


Why Did You Go?

by yourenotfree



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Hallucinations, M/M, lots of personal growth, potentially supernatural elements, the non-con isn't h/l, the zouis friendship, there is a lot of love in this fic, told partially in flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 08:18:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 40,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11100606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourenotfree/pseuds/yourenotfree
Summary: Without any warning, Harry flung himself at Louis, slotting their mouths effortlessly together, like they’d been made for only each other. “I’m so glad,” Harry said between kisses. “I want to do everything on earth with you.”Louis laughed softly into his open mouth. He could hardly breathe with Harry on top of him, squeezing like a boa constrictor, and his ribs ached dully from the effort. “Don’t worry,” he managed, around Harry’s lips. “You will.”A story of beginnings, endings, and above all, love.





	1. Please Don't Go

**Author's Note:**

> I am ecstatic to finally post this monster. I've been meticulously working on this fic for the past year, and I am incredibly pleased to finally be able to share it. This was originally meant to be no more than 5k, but things rarely go the way I plan.
> 
> This fic was heavily influenced by a number of songs, the first of which makes up the three chapter titles. The second is quoted at the beginning of each section. 
> 
> I would like to make it clear that the characters portrayed here are in no way related to their real life counterparts, with the exception of their names. Particularly in the case of Louis's father. 
> 
> This fic includes brief descriptions of suicide, brief mentions of rape/non-con, involves heavy swearing, alcohol abuse, and is centered around death. Please read carefully if you are at risk of being triggered by any of these things.

_“You’re gone, gone, gone away, I watched you disappear.”_

**_-Little Talks, Of Monsters & Men_ **

****

 The funeral was held exactly forty-eight hours after it had happened. Naturally, Louis still had not managed to come to terms with it. He was suspended in a state of disbelief, and wondered fleetingly if there was any amount of time that would make this loss feel real; not like some twisted and fathomless nightmare.

 

The morning of the funeral dawned grey and rainy. Louis stared blankly at the wall, and watched the digital clock. He finally pried himself from the floor at six-thirty on the dot, dressed himself pristinely in clothing that had been set out on his chair, swallowed down exactly seven spoonfuls of his breakfast, and accepted the eulogy that had been written for him without even the smallest complaint.

 

It was what they wanted from him, so he gave it willingly.

 

He did not tell them that he was unable to sleep in his own bed, and had instead stared at the absurdly empty left side from the floor all night long. He did not tell them that the cereal they had forced down his aching throat had ceased to have flavor, and instead tasted like sawdust in his mouth. He did not tell them that the speech they had agonized over was stiff and formal, and the thought of saying those words in the memory of someone so stunning and vibrant made him want to set the notecards aflame.

 

From the moment Louis was led from his car into the aggressively bleak cemetery, it was all wrong. The somber colors, the monotone voices, the crowd of weeping people that Louis had seen not once in the entirety of his life.

 

Very quickly, it became clear that the only way Louis would survive this horrid, colorless day, would be with the assistance of an obscene amount of liquor. Thankfully, he had come prepared.

 

The second that Liam noticed the flask, he frowned deeply. He didn’t comment (or rather _couldn’t_ , as the proceedings were in full swing), but Louis felt the disappointment rolling off of him in waves. Stubborn and so intensely furious, Louis tipped the alcohol down his throat in one, smooth motion and swallowed hard.

 

With that finished, Louis pulled out a second flask and began to drink.

 

-

 

Louis was bored out of his skull.

 

It was still quite early on a Saturday night, and if he wandered on home now, Zayn would never let him live it down. Displeased and disinterested, Louis ordered another cocktail, something fruity and only vaguely alcoholic. He sipped at it halfheartedly. He'd never been much of a barfly, something his best friend and roommate stubbornly found impossible to understand ( _If you'd only give it a_ try _, Louis!_ ), hence the unfortunate position he now found himself in.

 

"Don't tell me you're buying your own drinks!" exclaimed a scandalized voice to Louis's right.

 

He turned towards the sound, eyebrows in his hairline, and a sharp retort on the tip of his tongue. The words died in his throat.

 

It was a man. A man with eyes the pale green of sea foam, bitten red lips, a razor sharp jaw, and a dark waterfall of delicate curls cascading down a set of broad shoulders. Not merely a man, then. A vision. An exceptional beauty.

 

Obviously too pretty not to be crazy. Louis, once he had managed to pick his jaw up from the floor, attempted to control his accelerated heart rate. In an effort to hide his bright, pink cheeks from the beautiful stranger, Louis choked down a long sip of his cocktail. He spluttered unattractively.  

 

The man smiled good-naturedly, passing Louis a napkin. "What is it you have there?" He asked, indicating the gaudy drink with a hand that positively dripped in expensive jewelry. "It looks delicious."

 

Louis stared, wide-eyed, still finding it difficult to believe the coughing and spitting up hadn't yet scared off the stranger. It took him a few, awkward moments to remember how to speak. "Um...what?" Was his brilliant answer.

 

"Your drink," the man repeated, still grinning madly. "Do you recall its name?"

 

Louis blanched. "I haven't the faintest idea," he said honestly.

 

"That's alright." The same, delicate fingers reached out, wrapping around the glass. Louis was so focused on the freshly uncovered fact that the man's nails were painted a deep, bottomless black, that he hardly noticed as the stranger swallowed a third of Louis's beverage in one mouthful. He made a lovely sound of approval low in his throat. "An excellent choice." He flagged down the bartender. "Two more of whatever he's having."

 

Louis's eyes flickered comically between the glass and the stranger's mouth. "You stole my drink," he said in disbelief. "What kind of person just sits down, and _steals someone else's drink?_ "

 

"I do apologize," the man said, though he didn't sound sorry at all. "I didn't intend to be rude." He thrust his hand into Louis's personal space, imitating a customary gesture. "Harry Styles."

 

Louis narrowed his eyes. Suspiciously, he accepted Harry's hand, shaking it a moment longer than strictly necessary. "Louis Tomlinson," he answered, deciding that even if it turned out this Harry person was a serial killer, a common enough name wasn't much to go on.

 

He almost missed the way Harry caught his plush, bottom lip between his teeth, and was suddenly very glad that he had not.

 

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Louis."

 

-

 

When it was time for Louis to stand and deliver his painstakingly prepared eulogy, he rose from his seat as he was meant to, and marched in a straight line to the waiting podium. He kept his spine ramrod straight, and made it all the way through his speech without shedding a single, sodding tear.

 

He thought Harry might've been proud of that.

 

-

 

Louis, when all was said and done, was not proud of his actions. Not even a little bit.

 

But in his defense...he trailed his eyes up and down the stretch of muscled back beside him. Yes, alright, it had been a stupid and potentially _dangerous_ decision to fuck a complete stranger on impulse.

 

But it hadn't felt stupid! It had felt...well, pretty bloody brilliant, actually. Harry, as it turned out, was an enthusiastic lay and prettier still without the annoyance of clothing. Even the soft, shuddery sound of his unconscious breathing was perfect. It made Louis hesitant to wake him and interrupt what was apparently a deep slumber.

 

He couldn't let his one night stand stay the night...could he? It was an absurd notion. Zayn, who had the majority of the one night stands between the pair, never allowed it. Practically the _second_ the sweat had dried, Zayn’s guests were rooting around for clothing, and racing for the door. He had frequently advised that Louis follow a similar procedure.  

 

How long had it been since Louis's last shag? He vaguely recalled a dark-haired brute from several months ago that had left him feeling nauseated and strangely empty. He foggily remembered promising himself that was the last time.

 

But none of Louis's usual rules seemed to apply to Harry Styles. Just the thought was terrifying.

 

Lost in thought, Louis hadn’t noticed that the quiet snoring had come to an abrupt end. A whispered, "Hey," startled him back to the present.

 

Louis craned his head to the side. Harry propped his chin up in his hands, and was smiling sleepily up at him. The look in his eye, Louis thought, was _entirely_ too fond. "Hi," Louis managed to squeak.

 

"Did I fall asleep?" Harry asked, innocently enough.

 

Louis nodded. "You haven't been out long."

 

Harry's smile was all fox. "Well you do have _exceptional_ sheets. What's a thoroughly-fucked man to do?"

 

The heated, insatiable look Harry was pinning him with was definitely _not_ helping to solve Louis's internal dilemma. When he felt a large, warm hand journeying up his thigh, he very promptly decided the decision could wait just a tad bit longer.

 

Later, with a skilled tongue coaxing desperate cries from low in his throat, Louis found that he couldn't come up with a single reason why Harry shouldn't stay forever.

 

-

 

By the time the casket had been lowered into the earth, and covered completely in dirt, Louis was completely and thoroughly pissed. Remaining upright had become somewhat of a struggle, and he leaned heavily on Zayn's shoulder for support.

 

"Easy, mate," Zayn said, concerned brown eyes boring into Louis. "I've got you,” he promised quietly. “I've _always_ got you."

 

Louis pressed his face into the warm space between Zayn's jaw and shoulder. The smoky, familiar scent was as comforting as anything to his grief-addled brain, and he found that he could breathe easier with Zayn's arms holding him up.

 

"Harry's afraid of tight spaces," he slurred into Zayn's neck, the words barely coherent and flirting with hysterical. "He's all alone, Zayn. He'll be so scared in there."

 

Zayn, to his credit, didn't try to comfort Louis. He pulled the both of them down to the grassy earth, and wrapped himself as tightly around the smaller boy as he possibly could.

 

Louis placed his hands on either side of his own head, and tried to keep his skull from splitting in two.

 

-

 

Louis woke up alone.

 

He wasn't entirely certain when exactly he had fallen asleep. He surmised that it must have been shortly after the third go-round, and he momentarily congratulated himself on lasting that long at all.

 

But he had woken alone, and that was a much more pressing issue. He was torn between feeling relieved that he was now free and clear of the awkward morning after dance, and feeling decidedly irritated that Harry had _snuck out_ before Louis was up. Surely it wasn't _that_ shameful. Louis was no Adonis, but he wasn't exactly hard on the eyes either. And Harry seemed to have enjoyed himself last night, if Louis's obscenely marked up body was any indication.

 

 Grumbling to himself, Louis slid out of bed. He stretched his sore limbs over his head, sighing happily as his spine cracked. With that sorted, he began a lazy tour of the room, dressing in the odd article of clothing as he found it.

 

He took one look at his mangled sheets, and decided that if was going to tackle _that_ mess later, he would surely need a cup of tea. Or, rather, the entire kettle. Halfway to the tiny flat's even tinier kitchen, he stopped short. _Two_ voices floated out through the open doorway. One of them was obviously Zayn's. The second was deeper, huskier. The sound sent a pleasant shiver racing down Louis's spine.

 

He crossed the threshold, wondering if his eyes were deceiving him. Two heads popped up as he entered. Zayn smirked, dark and sultry, and said, "Good morning, Casanova. I was just getting to know your... _overnight guest_."

 

Suddenly, Louis wanted very much to melt into a puddle and disappear. A pair of intoxicating, green eyes were laughing down at Louis from a face like that of a Greek god. Harry covered his mouth with the mug in his hand, but his gaze didn't waver for even a second.

 

 _What_ the _fuck_ was he still doing here? Louis was _three_ seconds away from breaking out into hysterical hives.

 

"Louis, mate," Zayn said, less humor behind his tone. "Are you alright?"

 

"Peachy," Louis bit out. He made a vague gesture at the scene playing out before him. "What's this heartwarming gathering I've just stumbled into?"

 

He leveled the accusatory stare at Zayn, but the question had been raised to all of the room's occupants. To his faint surprise, it was Harry who spoke up. "I was planning on making you a proper breakfast," He inclined his head towards a sink-full of dishes, "when your flatmate wandered in, and we struck up a conversation."

 

Louis narrowed his eyes dangerously. "A conversation? About _what_?"

 

Zayn rolled his eyes. He was looking especially rumpled and ruggedly handsome this morning, and his close proximity to Harry was making Louis anxious. "What do you _think_ , Louis?"

 

Ah. Him, of course.

 

Zayn was a dead man. A dead man, and a _filthy traitor_!

 

Louis sniffed, tilting his chin in the fruitless effort to appear unruffled. "So where is this fabulous breakfast then? Where is the _tea_?"

 

Zayn handed over a cup, patting his arm consolingly. To Harry, and with an entirely inappropriate look of exasperation, he said, "He gets a bit cranky before tea, the poor dear." He winked conspiratorially at Louis. “Try not to look like such an _addict_ , Louis.”   

 

Harry ignored the remark. He approached Louis recklessly, apparently unaware that the shorter brunette was on the verge of throwing his piping hot drink into the nearest face. He slipped forward, and touched his lips to the corner of Louis's mouth. "Food's nearly ready."

 

He slipped back to the stove between one blink of an eye and the next, leaving Louis with a gaping mouth and a slew of unanswered questions.

 

Louis turned to find Zayn smirking pointedly at him. He huffed loudly, and grumpily tipped the contents of his mug down his throat.

 

-

 

It took the combined efforts of Zayn, Liam, and Niall to wrestle Louis into the waiting car.

 

"Someone will have to stay with him tonight," one of them said, though Louis could not determine who in particular. His vision was distractingly blurry.

 

"Well I can't," a different voice admitted guiltily. "I have a meeting in the morning."

 

"I can't either," a third added, soft and guilty.

 

The first voice sighed. "I suppose it _should_ be me. Help me get him home at least?"

 

" _Whose_ home? Where are we supposed to take him?"

 

After that, came a long stretch of silence.

 

-

 

"Would you like to go on a date with me?"

 

Louis's head snapped towards Harry so quickly, his neck ached from the effort. "A _what_?"

 

They were lying side by side in Louis's small bed, recovering from some of the most exuberant sex Louis'd ever had. Three weeks had passed since the night they'd met. Since the fateful evening, Louis had-- _unintentionally_ \--fallen into bed with Harry six times now.

 

It was a sickness. That, or Harry had put some sort of spell on him.

 

"A date," he repeated calmly. "With me, preferably. I'm free tomorrow night. How about yourself?"

 

Louis looked at this ridiculous man as if the notion of a date was the most wildly unreasonable thing he'd ever heard. Harry smiled in return, endlessly undeterred. He stroked Louis's face, from hairline to chin. "You're being very quiet for someone that's just been propositioned by an _exceptionally_ handsome bloke."

 

"I don't date," Louis told him quickly, pulling away like he’d been stung.

 

Harry didn't deflate at the rejection. He simply rearranged, supporting his chin comfortably in two hands. " _Oh_ , I see. This is just fucking. You sleep around."

 

"No, I _do not_ sleep around!"

 

Harry blinked. "You don't date. You don't sleep around. What's left?"

 

Louis didn't know how to tell him about the whole swearing-off-men thing. Mostly, because it would almost certainly prompt the types of questions that he was completely unprepared to answer. And, of course, he'd then be forced to explain how Harry had managed to slip through the cracks.

           

Louis was still working that out for himself.

 

In lieu of the truth, Louis said, "Fine. I sleep around. So what?"

 

" _So_ does that mean you _won't_ go on a date with me?"

 

"Correct."

 

Harry smiled like the devil, and pressed his mouth to Louis’s ear. "We'll see."

 

-

 

It was dark when Louis finally resurfaced. So very dark. The shades were drawn and the room was unfamiliar.

 

The funeral came back in painfully-bright flashes. Each memory tore through him like a bullet, leaving Louis gasping in their wake. He pressed a hand to his chest so that he could feel his heartbeat thrashing violently, and know for sure that he was still alive.

 

He half-expected Harry to slip through the door and ease him awake with soft kisses and a long hand carding through his hair. The realization that he'd never again spend his mornings with Harry was absurd. It made no kind of sense.

 

Of course he would come back. He always did. Louis stared at the door, willing it to open.

 

The knob turned, and Louis was immediately upright. A shadowy figure stepped into the room, and upon seeing that Louis was up, closed the door behind them-self.

 

"Hey," called a voice with a distinct, Irish accent. Louis had to shut his eyes to keep hot, furious tears from spilling. He wondered if he'd always feel this sick disappointment when anyone else spoke.

 

"Hey," he finally said.

 

Niall took this as invitation to seat himself on the end of the bed— _his_ own bed, Louis realized with a start—and held out a glass of clear liquid. Louis foolishly hoped it was vodka. "You've been sleeping for a while. Two whole days."

 

Harry had been in the ground for two days. Dead four. He bit back the urge to violently sick up all over Niall's duvet.

 

 He accepted the glass and chugged it. Not vodka, then. "Why am I here?"

 

Niall was apparently confused. "We would've taken you back to Zayn's, but he had to work. I was free." _To look after you_. Louis needed looking after. He needed minding. Like a child.

 

"I want to go home," he said flatly.

 

The blonde shifted uncomfortably. He wouldn't meet Louis's eyes. "We don't think that's such a great idea, Lou."

 

"It's my house. It's where I should be." He had to remind himself not to say _our_ house. Niall would never let him leave if he had.

 

"Zayn thinks it would be best for you to move back in with him. At least for a little while."

 

Louis set his jaw. "No." Out of the _fucking_ question.

 

Niall looked up in surprise. "No?" He asked, unsure. "You don't want to move back in with Zayn?"

 

"I want to go _home_ ," Louis snarled, in an almost feral way. He couldn't even imagine what he must've looked like right now; didn't want to. Wild eyes, unkempt hair, days-old stubble, unwashed skin. Harry used to spend an extraordinary amount of time telling Louis how beautiful he was.

 

Right now, he doubted Harry would even recognize him.

 

Louis swallowed. He felt dizzy.

 

Niall was staring at him, open-mouthed and utterly lost for words. He reached across the bed for Louis, maybe to offer a comforting hand, maybe to knock him unconscious. Louis would never know, because he leapt away from the contact, his back colliding with the headboard hard enough to momentarily knock the breath from his lungs. He didn't want to be touched.

 

"Lou-"

 

"Take me home, or I'll walk there myself."

 

Niall gave in after that. Louis pretended not to notice the deep wells of pity in his eyes.

 

-

 

Louis dropped his keys into the dish, shrugged out of his rain jacket, and called out, "Honey, I'm _hooome_!"

 

He smelled onions. And...peppers? Spices clung to the air, and Louis's stomach grumbled in appreciation. He headed in the direction of the kitchen, calling, "Zayn? Z? Are you _cooking_?"

 

He came to a dead stop. Zayn was nowhere in sight.

 

"How did you even get in here?"

 

Harry turned, eyes twinkling in amusement. "It's one of the world's great mysteries, isn't it? Do you like Mexican? I wasn't sure, but I figured there are few who could resist a good taco, so what the hell."

 

Louis hadn't heard a word of Harry’s ramblings. "What _are_ you on about?"

 

"Tacos," Harry said easily. He held up a wooden spoon laden with diced chicken. "I'm just about finished here. Why don't you come keep me company?" He indicated that Louis should move closer.

 

Louis maintained his position, rooting himself like a tree, and suppressed the urge to ring Zayn and scream for a nice, long while. Instead of placing the call, he said, rather bluntly. "I'm too tired to fuck, if that's why you're here."

 

"Long day at the office?" Harry teased. He stirred something in a pot. After a moment, he continued, "I'm not here for a shag, Louis. I'm cooking you a meal. In many cultures, it's considered a kind and gentlemanly gesture."

 

"A romantic gesture?"

 

One look at Louis's face, and Harry shut the stove off. He closed the distance between the two, but made no effort to touch. Gently, he said, "It doesn't have to be. I'm not going to force myself on you, or anything." Louis tried very hard not to flinch at those particular words.

 

Harry noticed. His eyes snapped to Louis's in concern. "Do you want me to go?"

 

Louis closed his eyes. He couldn't bear to look at Harry as he shook his head.

 

"Do you want to talk about it?"

 

 _No_. He didn't. Louis shot blindly forward, reaching for Harry like a lifeline. He dug his nails into the flesh of Harry's arms, and _pulled_. Harry met him halfway, slotting their mouths together like puzzle pieces. Louis thought despairingly that nothing but this had ever made so much sense, and then he stopped thinking altogether.

 

-

 

Niall had wanted to stay, or felt obligated to. Louis wasn't really sure which one. Didn't particularly care either way. In the end, he had left, only after making Louis swear up and down that he'd call if he needed anything ( _and I mean_ anything _, Lou_ ).

 

He wouldn't. He didn't. Not anything that Niall could offer him, anyway.

 

Louis found the key under the overly-cheerful welcome mat that Harry had insisted upon. Anger burned in his chest at the sight of it. With a shaking hand, Louis flipped it over. He unlocked the door quickly, suddenly desperate to be inside.

 

It wasn't as bad as he'd been expecting. It was impossibly worse. It knocked the breath from Louis's lungs. It cut him off at the knees.

 

He felt Harry _everywhere_.

 

His coat was hung tidily in the closet. His shoes were lined up neatly beside the door. His mail was stacked on the coffee table in piles of three. His favorite mug was sitting, recently scrubbed clean, on the countertop, waiting to be returned to its cupboard.

 

And, _motherfuck_ , his scent was _overwhelming_. The entire flat reeked of Harry.

 

Louis raced for the toilet. He braced himself against the porcelain bowl, and emptied the contents of his stomach. Only after he had finished, did Louis notice the blood. He trembled all over, and flushed the evidence away.

 

It was purely by chance that there was alcohol in the house. Neither Harry nor Louis had drank regularly, and it wasn't often they kept liquor around. The bottle of vodka wasn't actually theirs. Zayn had left it here one night, after angry drinking for three straight hours and then passing out on the couch for the rest of the night.

 

Half the bottle remained, and Louis grasped it now by the neck, tipping the contents up to his mouth. The liquor burned a path down his throat, but the fire was a welcome distraction. Still clinging desperately to the bottle, Louis snapped off every last light in the flat. The darkness helped.

 

He felt his way into the bedroom, acting on instinct. The bed was made, exactly the way Harry had left it four days ago. Louis hadn't touched it since. He didn't dare touch it now. It was far too large a bed for one person, and Louis wasn't sure he'd survive rolling over in the morning to discover only cold, empty sheets.

 

Instead, like the two nights before the funeral, Louis sat heavily on the carpeted floor, armed only with a single pillow. He drank until his throat was blissfully numb, and the bottle was finally empty.

 

It was only as Louis had begun drifting off to sleep, that he realized he still hadn't cried.

 

-

 

Harry Styles was a sneaky little shit, and he knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

 

Louis was sure of it. He was also relatively certain that his traitorous, bastard of a roommate had given Harry a key. It was the only explanation for Harry's random, daily appearances in the flat. A _key_. Louis had known this man all of two months. For God's sake, he could be a _murderer!_

 

But when Louis had asked, Zayn's only response had been vague and extremely unhelpful. "You brought the puppy home, Louis. He's _your_ responsibility."

 

The shagging, at this point, was a given. Louis had dropped the pretense, and tried to swallow the fear in his chest at the idea of having a regular sex life. Each time it happened, Louis was prepared for it to be the last. And every single time, Harry defied expectations by sticking around.

 

 _Like a fucking leech_ , Louis grumbled to himself as he downed a tall cup of lukewarm coffee. He much preferred his tea to this dark sludge, but the amount of sleep he'd gotten the past two months was pitiful, and he desperately needed the caffeine to get through the workday.

 

Liam stopped him on his way back to his office. "You aren't going to believe me when I tell you about the date I had last night," he informed Louis with a grin.

 

Louis arched a brow. Liam had recently taken up serial dating, and his successes were far fewer than his epic failures. "Good or bad?"

 

Liam grimaced. "Very, very bad. I might be off women forever."

 

"Men are no better," Louis assured him. "Just think. You could end up shagging _Zayn_ , and you’ve seen just how well _that_ usually turns out."

 

Liam considered for a long moment. "Point," he agreed eventually, evidently deciding that he wasn't quite ready to go down that road just yet. "Suppose I'll have another go at women, then. They can't _all_ be like this one, right?"

 

"Asking the wrong person there, Li."

 

"Oh," he frowned. "Right, then." He perked up. "Zayn tells me you've got yourself a new boyfriend! He says this one's a 'beacon of raw sexuality'. Did I get that right?"

 

Louis choked on his coffee, nearly spitting it all over the floor. “ _Bleeding_ Christ, Liam! Are you trying to kill me?"

 

 _Beacon of raw sexuality?_ Louis was going to murder Zayn in his fucking sleep.

 

"First and foremost, I do _not_ have a boyfriend, new or otherwise. I have a...casual sexual acquaintance. Occasionally." He imagined folding in on himself to escape the look of scrutiny. "I hardly even know the guy."

 

Which was true enough. Two months of earth-shattering sex later, Harry was still as big a mystery as the night he'd first crawled under Louis's skin, where he'd stubbornly remained ever since. Louis hadn't bothered to ask questions further than his preferences in the bedroom, though he couldn't deny a healthy curiosity.

 

When a manicured optimist with the face and body of a male model drops inexplicably into your lap one suspiciously ordinary, it's impossible _not_ to wonder where exactly he came from.

 

"Secondly," Louis continued, pushing through even as his mind wandered, "when did you and Zayn start gossiping behind my back?"

 

Liam rolled his eyes, like the answer was exceedingly obvious. "Honestly, Lou. We have a monthly dinner to discuss you. We find you _endlessly_ fascinating."

 

"You meet to _discuss me?_ "

 

Liam pulled the both of them into Louis's office, quickly shutting the door. "You're shrieking. It's no big deal. I'm mostly kidding, anyhow. Zayn and I are friends. If Louis Tomlinson is broached as a topic for conversation every once in a while...well, we're not going to ignore it."

 

Louis supposed two murders were basically the same as one. Basically.

 

He was about to express this to Liam (who wasn't _nearly_ as terrified for his life as Louis would like him), when a velvety, lilting voice from right outside the door politely asked, "This is Mr. Tomlinson's office?"

 

"That's right, honey. Go on in. He's only just arrived," returned Louis secretary, the kind-to-a-fault Mrs. Brigham.

 

Louis watched in abject horror as the knob turned. The door opened in horror movie slow motion. Harry stepped into his office, wearing his smile like an accessory. "Oh, hello," he said, obviously surprised to see Liam already inside. "Am I interrupting something?"

 

Louis practically leapt at Liam, aiming to clamp a hand over his mouth, but he was a hundredth of a second too slow. Liam stepped easily out of the way. He caught Louis's hand, and replaced it at his side. " _This_ must be the beacon of raw sexuality I've heard so much about."

 

Confusion darkened Harry's eyes, and he shot a questioning look at Louis, who was stubbornly mumbling _casual sexual acquaintance_ under his breath and pointedly _not_ looking at him.

 

"That's my title," Harry grinned and offered a hand. "Usually I just go by Harry."

 

Liam laughed and shook his hand. "It's a pleasure, mate. We were just talking about you, actually."

 

Harry quirked a brow at Louis in interest. "Is that right?"

 

Still determined not to meet his eyes, Louis focused his attention on Harry's attire. He had pulled his curls into a messy bun at the back of his head, the effect of which sharpened his jaw like a knife. His black jeans appeared to have been painted on by hand, hugging muscled calves and shapely thighs beautifully. His shirt was silky and white, and unbuttoned halfway down the smooth skin of his chest.

 

What the fuck did he mean, coming to Louis's place of business dressed like that?

 

"I think," Louis interjected forcefully, "that _Harry_ and I need to have a little chat."

 

-

 

It was unbearable.

 

Louis unconsciously reached an arm out, intending to press closer to the warm body beside him. His palm met itchy carpet. Louis blinked slowly, adjusting to the sharp light spilling over his balled form. He was on the floor. The vodka bottle was exactly where he'd left it, completely drained.

 

He wondered if this was his life now. Unbearable nights that he'd forget by the morning, downing half his weight in liquor. Turning slowly grey, because without Harry, he ceased to exist.

 

His life had been treacherous before Harry, all menial work and silent suffering, and his life after Harry was the lowest he'd ever reached. He didn’t want to think about what came next.

 

Louis sat up, shifted, and caught sight of his phone lying in the exact same place where he had dropped it the day he'd received the call. He reached for it. The screen was, miraculously, crack-free. A bright screen and forty-eight missed calls greeted him. Twenty were courtesy of Zayn. Six were from Niall. Four were from Liam. The last eighteen were all from his mother.

 

Guilt uncoiled, twisting around his organs, in the pit of Louis's stomach. He knew his mum must be worried. She had tried to talk to him at the funeral, but Louis had known that the fragile exterior he'd expended so much energy trying to maintain would crumble the second she touched him, and had managed to avoid her entirely.

 

Wearily, he touched his thumb to her contact, and pressed the phone up to his ear. She answered on the first ring. "Louis? Sweetheart, I've been ringing you for days! Do you need me to come over? Louis?"

 

It was lovely to hear her voice. It took him a while to work up the nerve to speak. "Hi, Mum." His voice was scratchy and quiet.

 

"Oh, my darling boy," she breathed. Louis could tell she was crying. "What do you need, baby? What can Mummy do for you?"

 

Louis held a hand to his mouth to suppress a sob. He bit down on his hand until his teeth cut through flesh, and he tasted rust and dirty quarters. "Harry," he whimpered, feeling so small and _so_ pathetic. "He's dead, Mum. He _died_."

 

The words tasted wrong. Louis could scarcely believe them, even as they tumbled out of his mouth.

 

"I know, sweetness. I know. Oh, Louis. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what else to say," Jay was hardly legible through her tears. “I’m _so sorry_.”

 

Louis curled in on himself, tucking his knees into his chest, and tried to remember the last time he'd told Harry that he loved him.

 

-

 

"You're in my office."

 

"I am."

 

"It's a workday. I'm at _work_. How do you even know where I work?"

 

Harry shrugged. "Zayn told me, since you never bothered to." He took a leisurely lap of the room. "Publishing," he remarked, tracing his index finger over Louis's faux-gold nameplate. "The office suits you. It's all terribly impressive."

 

Louis had to force himself not to stomp his foot like an insulate brat. "Harry. _What are you doing here?_ "

 

The taller man fixed Louis with a dazzling smile. "I thought you might like to go to lunch with me. I know a wonderful little place."

 

Louis glanced at his empty desk. "I'm busy.” Harry followed his gaze, and raised a brow.

 

"Well you'll have to eat at some point, yeah? Surely you could stand some company for an hour or so. Or would my raw sexuality put you off your food?"

 

It was becoming very apparent that Harry was never planning on letting that go. Louis sighed, long and dejected. "If I agree to go, will you forget the entire conversation with Liam and swear never to bring it up again?"

 

Harry smiled like he’d swallowed the canary. "Not a goddamn chance, Mr. Tomlinson."

 

-

 

A fist had been pounding against Louis's door for ten straight minutes. Swearing violently, Louis rose to answer it, after reaching the conclusion that whoever was on the other side had no intention of giving up.

 

"What?" He asked, his tone dead and viciously unapologetic.

 

Zayn was angry. His black eyes snapped coldly. Without waiting for an invitation, he tossed a takeaway bag into Louis's arms, and shouldered his way inside the flat. "You've stopped answering your phone, is that it?"

 

Louis scowled. "My sincerest apologies. Not feeling particularly _chatty_ of late."

 

"Yes, well, do _fucking_ excuse me for checking in," Zayn spat. "I only spent half the night sick to my stomach, wondering if you were _alive or dead_."

 

Shit. Louis's mouth opened and shut robotically.

 

"Alive, I see," said Zayn after a minute of taking inventory, and a period of suffocating silence.

 

"More or less," Louis amended quietly.

 

"You're breathing, mate," his voice had lost its edge. He sounded exhausted. "I've already lost one friend this week. I wouldn't survive losing you, too."

 

Louis wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. He gnawed on his bottom lip, trying to telepathically express his regret. Zayn awarded him a small nod, and released a long breath.

 

"Have you eaten today?"

 

Louis hadn't eaten in five days, actually. It had never even occurred to him. His appetite was nonexistent, and a mundane task like food consumption was the very last item on an extremely short list of things Louis cared about.

 

Zayn, apparently taking his silence as a firm _no_ , pointed to the takeaway bag lying forgotten in Louis's arms. "I picked up some Chinese. Figured you'd need sustenance, and I know it's your favorite."

 

Louis felt no desire to open the bag, and even less to force greasy, sweet and sour chicken down his throat. But Zayn had gone to the trouble because he was worried, and the last thing Louis ever wanted to do was cause his best friend even a fraction of the pain he was feeling.

 

He took a seat on the floor, supporting his back against the nearest wall, and pulled the styrofoam container from its wrappings. Zayn shot him a confused look, most likely wondering about his sudden aversion to kitchen tables. Louis ignored it. The kitchen had always been Harry's favorite room in the flat. It didn't seem right to be in there without him.

 

Two bites in, Louis felt more than saw Zayn slide down beside him. An arm curled around Louis's shoulders, anchoring him to the spot. Neither boy spoke a word aloud, but Louis knew what the gesture meant.

 

 _I've got you. I've_ always _got you._

 

-

 

Harry pulled Louis's chair out for him with a grand smile. "If you please," he said grandly.

 

Louis eyed the chair with distaste. "I am capable of seating _myself_ ," he informed Harry with extreme condescension. He sat stiffly, displeased with this whole situation already. He would almost certainly live to regret this.

 

Harry rolled his eyes three times in a row. He took the seat opposite Louis. "It's called _chivalry_ , Louis, you silly, uncultured boy. Many people consider it to be a most becoming trait in their date."

 

Louis froze. "This isn't a date."

 

"Mmhm, yes of course. Would you prefer a caprese salad or bruschetta?"

 

Louis wasn't about to be brushed off and ignored. Stubbornly, he said again, "Harry. This _isn't_ a date. Repeat it back to me."

 

Harry snapped his menu shut, and laid it flat on the table. He stared very seriously at Louis, took his hand, and carefully articulated, "We are, presently, on our very first date."

 

" _Harry_ -"

 

A waitress appeared beside their table. She pulled forth a pad of paper and a pen, and shot them a pointed look. Harry grabbed Louis's menu from him in one, fluid motion, and handed it over.

 

"Could we have the bruschetta to start with?" He asked silkily. Charm positively oozed from his every pore. The waitress seemed overcome. She nodded and began scribbling ferociously. Harry smiled. "Brilliant. I'll have the spinach ravioli and a water."

 

Louis realized that he hadn't so much as skimmed the menu. Distracted, he said, "Same for me."

 

The second that the waitress had disappeared back into the kitchen, Louis threw himself back into his protests with renewed vigor. "Harry," he hissed. "We are not finished with this discussion!"

 

Harry raised a brow and casually adjusted his silk shirt. "Let me ask you something. Why are you so deeply opposed to dating me?"

 

"It isn't _you_ -"

 

"Alright," Harry allowed, holding up a hand to quiet Louis. "So it isn't me specifically that you object to. Is it a fear of commitment?"

 

Louis felt like he was sweating. He swiped a hand across his forehead, noting that his skin was feverish. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat. "Look," he began quietly, "it's not easy for me to... _trust_ people."

 

"You mean to trust me?" Harry was still all business. It was maddening.

 

"Not just you," he mumbled.

 

Confusion flitted across Harry's expression. "Your friends? Zayn?"

 

"Zayn is different," Louis said firmly. "I've known him for ages. He's never left me. Not even once."

 

Harry blew out a breath. He had softened considerably, and Louis detected real emotion in his features now. "That's what this is all about," he realized. "You think I'll abandon you."

 

Louis had had quite enough. He shoved his chair away from the table, and stood on visibly trembling legs. He grappled for his phone and wallet, throwing them aimlessly into his coat pockets. "Don't follow me," he warned, and stalked out of the Italian bistro.

 

-

 

Louis had been standing outside of Liam's office for ten minutes, and he still hadn't managed to work up the nerve to knock. His fingers twitched at his sides. He wished desperately for a cigarette to clear his head and calm his frazzled nerves. But Harry’d helped him to quit that habit nearly two years ago, and Louis couldn’t quite bring himself to disappoint Harry, even now.

 

He could do this. He could.

 

Louis rapped lightly on the door. From inside, Liam called, "Come in."

 

He looked up from the thick manuscript he was paging through, then immediately closed it when he saw that it was Louis. "Hi. Uh, come in, Lou." He gestured wildly at one of the armchairs arranged before his desk. "Sit, sit."

 

Louis sank into the chair. Under Liam's scrutinizing gaze, Louis was beginning to feel very small. He quelled a rise of anger. _They all mean well_ , he had to remind himself stiffly.

 

"I'm surprised to see you here," Liam said after a beat of silence. "You know that no one expects you to be back to work just yet. Your job is perfectly safe."

 

Louis dug his fingernails into the plush leather arms of the chair. He collected his courage, and announced, "I would like to submit my two weeks notice."

 

Liam went very still. "You what?"

 

"I quit."

 

Liam appeared to be struggling to form a coherent thought. He made a series of noises that might have been an attempt at words. Eventually, he managed to emit a strangled, " _Why?_ Louis you aren't thinking clearly-"

 

"I am," Louis shot back defensively. And he was. In fact, it was the clearest he'd been thinking in a long while. "I don't want to work here anymore. It's very simple, really."

 

"I know you're struggling right now, Louis, but surely you'll need the money-"

 

"I don't _care_ about money!" Louis realized that he was shouting. He clamped his lips together, and brought his breathing back under control. With effort, he lowered his voice a considerable amount. "It's not important," he said with finality. "Nothing is important."

 

-

 

Louis groaned in response to the scene he had just walked in on. " _Really_ , Zayn? Our _living_ _room?_ This is a shared space!"

 

Zayn did his best to casually disentangle from the man perched in his lap. He offered Louis a shrug and a remorseless smile. "Sorry, mate. I was under the _distinct_ impression that you were working late tonight. In fact," he pointed to where his phone lay forgotten on the coffee table, "I believe I even have the text to prove it."

 

"I changed my mind."

 

Something in Louis's face must have startled Zayn. The raven-haired boy straightened in alarm, completely ignoring his male counterpart's cries of protest as he was thrown roughly aside. "What is it? Has something happened?"

 

" _No_ ," snapped Louis. He ripped his coat off, flinging it to the floor, and started for his bedroom. "Keep it down out here, will you?"

 

Zayn padded quietly behind him. "Lou. Just tell me. We'll sort it out."

 

"Nothing to sort." Zayn _did not_ want to get into this with him now.

 

"Obviously there's _something_. You don't think I can tell when you're upset?"

 

That was it. Louis whirled on him, shoving his face up into Zayn's, as close as he dared. "Did you send Harry to my office today?"

 

Zayn momentarily blanched. "Yeah, I...yes. I did." He grasped Louis firmly by the arm, eyes suddenly wide and scared. "Did Harry _do_ something?"

 

" _Why_ are you encouraging him?" Louis demanded, ripping his arm away. "I know you've been letting him in here all the time. I thought you _understood_ -"

 

Zayn held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, yes. I let him in. I told him where to find you. What do you want me to do, Louis? Send him away? He's a nice guy, who _obviously_ cares about you. Why shouldn't I encourage that?"

 

Louis's hands had migrated to his hair, and he realized he was pulling rather hard. "Because it's none of your fucking business is why!"

 

"Of course it's my business! Fuck, _listen_ to yourself! What is going on with you?"

 

Louis turned sharply away. Traitorous tears threatened to spill over. He released a frustrated breath, and pulled a freshly-purchased pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He lit one with nimble fingers, and felt astronomically calmer when he put it to his lips. "I'm not seeing Harry anymore," he said finally. "So the next time he comes round, you can tell him to fuck right off."

 

Zayn's mouth fell comically open. If Louis wasn't already in such a foul mood, he might've laughed.

 

"I thought you _liked_ him."

 

That was sort of the point, but Louis kept that to himself.

 

"He was a convenient shag," Louis said brusquely, feeling like complete and utter shit as he spoke the words. They trickled out tasting of outrageous lies and acidic bile. "But now I've grown bored of him. Time to...move on."

 

Zayn looked distraught. His eyes were wide and pleading. Louis took another drag and vowed not to look at him anymore. "Harry's different," he murmured cautiously, as though he were speaking to a spooked animal. "He's _good_. He would never hurt you."

 

Louis laughed bitterly. "Of course he will."

 

-

 

Three times in Louis's life, he had considered taking his own life.

 

The first had been many years ago, when Louis was a fragile youth at the tender age of fifteen. He came home after school one afternoon to discover his father had run off with another woman. It was Louis that found his mother on the floor of her bedroom, drunk out of her mind. She had gripped Louis by the collar, and begged her only son to just _let her die_.

 

After he'd tucked his mum into bed, and calmed his four, hysterical baby sisters down, Louis remembered very distinctly locking himself in the bathroom with a steak knife. He stared at that knife through the night, but when the sun rose the next morning, he was still unable to run the blade across his skin and bleed himself dry. His family, he had eventually decided, could not take another loss.

 

He returned the knife to its drawer, and went to check in on his mother. He never told a soul about what he had almost done.

 

The second time, Louis actually went through with it. He was twenty years old, irrevocably in love, and operating under the belief that he was _invincible_.

 

Louis met David at a uni party, and the infatuation had set in from there. He was older, he was gorgeous, and Louis had never wanted anything more. They were inseparable. Wherever David went, Louis trailed faithfully along behind him. After only three months of dating, Louis moved in with him.

 

The three month mark was, simultaneously, when everything went to shit.

 

David's personality shifted rather dramatically almost instantly. He drank heavily, threw outrageous parties, and oftentimes didn't bother coming home. When he did deign to spend time on Louis, he treated him more like a warm body than a _person_.

 

Once, when David had invited over a group of friends, and Louis had gone to fetch them drinks, he overheard David say, "He's a pretty little thing, isn't he?"

 

"The twink?" One of the gruffly voiced friends asked to confirm. "Who could pay attention to his face with an arse like that?"

 

David laughed boisterously, one of his tells that he was verging on sloppy drunk. "It's as good as it looks. And you should _hear_ the way he pants for it, little fucking slut that he is."

 

Louis nearly dropped his tray of drinks in surprise. Feeling violently ill and desperately wanting to hear no more, Louis spent the rest of the night hidden in David's bedroom. He eventually drifted off into a restless sleep, until he was abruptly woken by a persistent hand working its way up his thigh.

 

"What time is it?" Louis had asked in a sleep-worn voice, startling away from David's touch.

 

David's face had been too close. His mouth was too hot and smelled strongly of liquor as it came down on Louis's. The kiss was harsh, all clashing teeth and sour breath. That night wasn't the first time David had been rough—almost _violent_ —with him, but it was the first time he ignored Louis when he said _no_.

 

It took Zayn one year to piece together what was going on, and two for him to lock Louis up in his flat, and stoutly refuse to let him go home to a monster. Louis screamed until his throat was bloody and raw, but Zayn didn't budge in his resolve for even the briefest of moments.

 

That was the night Louis swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills. Had Zayn not found him and shoved two fingers down his throat, Louis would probably be dead.

 

The third and final instance, was the day before the funeral.

 

Louis pressed his face into Harry’s pillow and took a deep, shuddery breath. His eyes were drawn to the top drawer of Harry’s bedside table, before he turned abruptly away.

 

He wasn’t ready to relive that memory just yet.

 

-

 

Louis heard two, short knocks at the door. He eased himself off of the sofa, where he’d spent the majority of his Saturday pointedly ignoring Zayn’s transparent attempts to make nice, and went to answer it.

 

Harry pushed forcefully inside the second he saw an opening. Louis—who’d never seen him act anything outside of perfectly mannered—was frozen in astonishment. “I didn’t _ask_ you in,” he reminded Harry icily.

 

“I don’t recall _requesting_ an invitation.”

 

“Did I not make my position abundantly clear yesterday? Shall I have another go?”

 

Harry narrowed his eyes. “This might’ve been news to you before, but I’ve come to sort it out for you.” He gestured between the two of them. “This relationship includes _two_ people. You and me. And that means you do not get to make _executive decisions_ without first consulting me.”

 

Louis shook his head violently. “ _Stop_ it, Harry, this isn’t a relationship!”

 

“What do you call it then?” He sounded fed up. Light years past exasperation. The nail polish on his thumbnail was chipped. The imperfection, strangely, was a comfort to Louis.

 

Louis shrugged defiantly. He wrapped both arms around his middle. “Why does it need a definition?”

 

“Because— _dammit_ , Louis—because I care about you! Why do you even need to hear me say it? Have I not made _that_ clear?”

 

Louis’s breath caught in his throat. His vision blurred as overwhelmed tears formed a screen over his eyes. He hid his face from Harry, ashamed of his ill-concealed emotion. “Listen, Harry.” It hurt to talk. His throat constricted painfully. “That’s really sweet and all, but you’re wasting your time on me.”

 

“Look me in the eye and tell me you want me to leave and never come back.”

 

Louis opened his mouth, determined to force the words out, but they stuck. He attempted to conceal this failure with a cough, but it sounded fake even to his ears. When he finally worked up the nerve to meet Harry’s eyes, the taller man was nodding down at him.

 

“I thought so,” he said quietly. He reached out and grasped one of Louis’s hands. He squeezed once. “We’ll figure the rest out as we go.”

 

-

 

Louis cracked the bathroom door, and turned the lights on. He leaned against the wooden doorframe for support as his eyes scanned the small space.

 

Not a thing was out of place. Harry was like that; he needed everything to be neat and orderly. In its correct, designated location. When Louis made messes, the chaotic look in Harry’s eyes left him guilt-ridden for days on end. For Harry’s sake, though Louis had never minded a mess, he tried to tidy up after himself.

 

Louis had been the last to use the toilet, actually. It was frozen in surprisingly pristine order. A note from Harry was stuck to the mirror, mocking Louis with its cheerful, yellow color.

 

_Hate to leave you before you wake, but I won’t be gone long. Go back to sleep, my love. I’ll see you soon. –H_

Louis inhaled. Exhaled.

 

 _I’ll see you soon._ It was the first promise he’d ever broken.

 

-

 

Harry stroked up and down Louis’s bare side. His fingers left a warm path that felt exceptional in Louis’s freezing bedroom. Louis, feeling drowsy and contented, leaned into the simple touch. He let out the softest of breaths.

 

“What are you thinking?” Harry murmured.

 

Louis smiled. “That maybe everything will be alright.”

 

-

 

Zayn called twice a day, like clockwork. Once at seven, to make sure Louis wasn’t wasting away in bed all morning, and then again at six, to make sure Louis had fed and bathed himself sufficiently. Louis _would_ just ignore him, but then Zayn would feel the need to actually come over to make his assessments in person. So Louis kept his irritation carefully in check, and took every last call with very little complaint.

 

Louis almost exclusively lied. He didn’t feel particularly bad about the lies, either. It was in Zayn’s best interest that he not know the truth; that he thought Louis was doing better. Louis owed him that much.

 

“Don’t be angry,” Zayn requested cautiously during one of their evening phone calls, “but I’ve scheduled you an appointment with a psychiatrist.”

 

Louis went very still. “I won’t go,” he promised.

 

“Don’t you think it’d be, I dunno, _nice_ to talk to someone?”

 

“I talk to you every day.”

 

“Yes,” Zayn agreed, “but I’m not a mental health professional. And you refuse to talk to me about what happened, anyway. Maybe you’ll feel more comfortable speaking with someone more suited for the job?”

 

“I don’t need to talk about it,” Louis said firmly. “I don’t _want_ to talk about it.”

 

“Harry would want you to-”

 

“Harry is _dead_ ,” Louis said flatly. “He doesn’t want much of anything these days, _least of all_ for me to be forced into _therapy_ so that my manipulative friends can sleep easier at night.”

 

“We’re _worried_ , Louis. All of us. Your mum came to see me yesterday, did you know that? She’s scared shitless, and you won’t return her calls. We aren’t going to just sit by and let you _drown_ in it, Louis.”

 

Louis bristled. “I’m doing fine,” he shot defensively back. “I answer _your_ calls. I eat. I sleep. What _exactly_ am I doing wrong?”

 

“Liam tells me you quit your job.”

 

Louis’d been waiting days for Zayn to bring that up. It had only been a matter of time.

 

“I did,” he admitted at length.

 

“You understand this kind of behavior is what has us all so concerned about you,” Zayn tried in a tone verging on desperation. “It was impulsive, and _stupid_ , and you’re better than this, Louis. Thank God Liam is willing to just forget the whole thing.”

 

Louis surprised himself by reaching an uncharacteristic state of calm. He shrugged, though he knew Zayn couldn’t see him. “Liam can do whatever he likes. I’ll not be returning to that office. I had thought I made myself clear before, but it makes no difference to me either way.”

 

“Louis…,” Zayn trailed off, apparently lost for words. Louis waited patiently in silence for three full minutes, before he shrugged again, and hung up.

 

-

 

Louis hadn’t stopped fidgeting with his jumper since they’d arrived at the pub twenty minutes ago. Harry, sensing his agitation, wrapped an arm around his middle to anchor him. “Alright?” He asked, lowering his lips to Louis’s ear.

 

“Yeah,” Louis nodded, attempting a nervous smile. Harry chuckled under his breath, and turned back to the rest of the group gathered there.

 

It was their first outing together since reaching a shaky, we’ll-see-where-this-goes conclusion. Louis had invited Zayn and Liam, both of whom were acting much too pleased with themselves for Louis’s comfort. Harry, though Louis suspected his charm was widely acknowledged and garnered him an entire network of friends, had only brought his best mate, Niall.

 

“We’re easing into this,” he’d explained earlier when Louis had inquired. “And Niall’s the only one that _really_ matters anyway.”

 

Niall Horan, a dyed-blonde ball of regenerative energy and Irish nationalism, was easy to like. He had been the first to the pub, and greeted everyone with an exuberant hand shake and a pint.

 

Louis and Harry were the very last to arrive, due in large to Louis’s mild anxiety attack and the time it had taken Harry to calm him down. Niall smiled brilliantly. “You must be Louis,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’ve heard _loads_ about you.” He smirked openly at Harry, subtly apparently a lost art in his expressions. 

 

“Yes, yes. I’ve been a man obsessed for a bit now,” Harry obliged, trying his hand at nonchalance. He sought Louis’s hand. “It’s no secret.”

 

Louis still hadn’t said much. He wasn’t quite sure where he fit into this new arrangement. The other four boys were all rather taken with one another When Niall wasn’t telling a story that left Harry a blushing mess, he was interrogating Zayn about his pick-up tactics, or pressing Liam for more hilarious retellings of his traumatic dating experiences.

 

The laughter came easily, and the drinks flowed seemingly nonstop. And whenever it all got to be too much for Louis to handle, he felt Harry’s hands on him, or caught Zayn’s small smile, and felt the breath return to his lungs.

 

-

 

There was a parcel on the counter when Louis emerged from the bedroom the following morning.  All three of the boys had keys to the flat, but Louis strongly suspected that it had been Zayn who’d left the package. He approached it with caution. No note, no signature.

 

He tore the box open with his bare hands, wincing as he sliced a gash down the length of his finger. He stuck the injured digit into his mouth, sucking gently to stave off pain, and returned his attention to the parcel’s contents.

 

It was a book. Upon closer evaluation, Louis realized—with great horror—that it was a _self-help_ book.

 

**_Coping with Loss: Ten Easy Steps to Get YOU Back on Your Feet!_ **

****

The irritatingly-pink cover and ridiculous title snapped something in Louis. Ten easy _motherfucking_ steps? That was all it took to have completely moved on from the _love_ of his _life dying?_ He wanted to set this book on fire. He wanted to take a pair of shears to the pages, and _rip_ until every last word was illegible.

 

Inside the front cover, a note had been scrawled in Zayn’s unmistakable, elegant hand.

 

_Consider it an impasse._

Impasse his _fucking_ arse. Louis picked the book up, and pitched it as hard as he could into the bin.

 

-

 

They fell into bed some cold, rainy night, tangled together in absolute exhaustion. Pub nights had become a regular Friday tradition, and the group had been practically all night long. Louis secretly loved when Harry was like this. Warm, sloppy, overtly affectionate. So beautiful, so _magnificent_ , that it almost hurt to look at him for too long. Like he was staring down the sun.

 

“I feel lovely,” Harry murmured tiredly. “Like right after a nice shag.” He nuzzled his cold nose into the dips of Louis’s collarbone. He pressed a quick, chaste kiss there.

 

“You’re the happiest drunk I’ve ever known,” Louis informed him with an eye roll, though his entirely endeared smile was dangerously close to splitting his face in two. “Actually, you’re the happiest _person_ I’ve ever known.”

 

“What’s wrong with that?” He pulled Louis taught to his body, as close as they could be without merging into one being. “I’ve nothing to complain about. I’m _exceptionally_ happy these days.”

 

Louis was too. He was having a difficult time thinking clearly, what with the alcohol buzzing like electricity under his skin, and a warm mouth suckling sweetly on his neck, but he was certain there was something important he was meant to say here.

 

He couldn’t remember. He’d say it in the morning, when his wits were returned to him. It could surely wait for one evening.

 

Louis had been trying to recall his thoughts with so much focus, that he hadn’t heard Harry calling his name. “Sorry, love. What was that?”

 

Harry said something into his neck, only half-coherent. “Speak up,” Louis instructed tenderly. He petted Harry’s long curls, and kissed the side of his face. “I can’t hear you when you mumble, H.”

 

Harry, with great effort, lifted his head. He grinned dazedly, his eyes full of stars. “Move in with me,” he said. There was no question mark attached, just a single demand.

 

Louis, had Niall not forced half the bar down his throat, might have panicked at the offer. Might have remembered the _last_ time he’d taken this step with a man. Might have talked himself out of it. Might have argued that they had only been together for one _tiny_ little year.

 

As it was, Louis did none of those things. “Okay,” he whispered into the darkness, feeling a million emotions all at once, but realizing—with a start—that not one of them was fear.

 

He didn’t want to be afraid anymore, and with Harry, he didn’t have to be.

 

Harry perked up at the word. “Okay?” He repeated slowly. “Okay you will?”

 

“Yeah, H. I will.”

 

Without any warning, Harry flung himself at Louis, slotting their mouths effortlessly together, like they’d been made for only each other. “I’m so glad,” Harry said between kisses. “I want to do everything on earth with you.”

 

Louis laughed softly into his open mouth. He could hardly breathe with Harry on top of him, squeezing like a boa constrictor, and his ribs ached dully from the effort. “Don’t worry,” he managed, around Harry’s lips. “You will.”


	2. I Love You So

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone was cross-legged on the countertop, a mug pressed between two palms. A red, curled mouth smiled warmly in greeting. The mouth opened. "Hello, love."

_“Your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear.”_

**_-Little Talks, Of Monsters & Men_ **

****

Louis toyed with his water's straw, unsure of what to do with his hands. It felt strange, to be outside in broad daylight, after so much time spent in the dark. Beside him, Zayn lounged aristocratically in his chair and adjusted the dark Ray Bans over his eyes. Liam continuously checked the chunky watch on his wrist, and then flushed with guilt when anyone noticed. Niall belched loudly, and scanned his surroundings for the waitress.

 

"How long do we have to sit here?" Louis asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had been stretching endlessly on for half an hour.

 

Zayn waved his hand around. "We are reintroducing you to the outside world. It takes as long as it takes."

 

Liam leaned across the table. "I kind of have to be in a meeting soon-"

 

"It takes _as long as it takes_."

 

Louis rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'm reintroduced, or whatever. Can I go back home yet?"

 

He felt the distance between himself and the flat like an open wound. The farther he was from it, the  farther  he  was  from  all  that  remained  of  his  dead  boyfriend.  Six months since it had happened, and Zayn was still trying to convince Louis to get a new place. Just the thought of losing Harry for a _second_ time threatened to tip Louis over the edge.

 

"You may not," Zayn said coolly. He leaned farther back in his chair, enjoying the late June sun and its relative warmth against his face. "We haven't even ordered yet. And you're paler than Niall."

 

Niall, completely unperturbed by the dig, nodded in agreement. "You are looking rather peaky these days, mate."

 

Louis rarely even _showered_ anymore. What the hell did he care about a bleeding _tan_?

 

He positively itched for a smoke. "Pass me a fag," he demanded of Zayn.

 

Zayn slid the Ray Bans down the bridge of his nose, gave Louis one of his patented Prince-of- Darkness looks, and shook his head. "You've quit."

 

"Yes well. Loads of things are different now. Pass me one."

 

Zayn made a noise of exasperation, but ultimately decided not to press the issue further. He reached into his front pocket, and placed a cigarette in Louis's hands. "There. Will you stop complaining now?"

 

Judging by the look on his face, Zayn immediately regretted his choice of words.

 

Louis knew he didn't mean it. Really, he did. But the ever-present inkling that he had become more of a charity case than one of the lads surged like bile rising in his throat. Any pretense of good humor vanished. He took the cigarette, lit it expertly, and tried to hide behind an exhale of smoke.

 

Liam sighed. "Zayn," he said quietly. "C'mon."

 

"Don't bother, Li," Louis said, cold and casual. He stood from the table. "I was just leaving, anyway."

 

Three voices protested all at once, the words getting lost in one another and ceasing to have any meaning. Louis didn't let them stop him.

 

He'd already been away for too long.

 

-

 

The first birthday Louis and Harry celebrated as a couple, was a complete and utter shitshow from start to finish.

 

It was probably Louis's fault. Okay, it was _entirely_ Louis's fault. But in his defense, Louis had never really celebrated his birthday before, and was not used to it. So, really, his behaving like a total pillock should not have been that much of a surprise.

 

The problem was that Harry--good, sweet, _melodramatic_ Harry--was not the type of bloke to let his boyfriend's birthday pass without a Whole Big Spectacle.

 

Louis woke on the dawn of his twenty-fifth year, and then immediately wished he hadn't. Before he'd even _opened_ his eyes, he could smell them. Chocolate chip muffins. His favorite. One confirmatory glance at the digital clock later (how _early_ had Harry gotten up?), and Louis found himself seriously considering the fire escape.

 

His extraction plans were effectively ruined, when a voice floated in from the kitchen. "Louis? Are you _uuup_ yet?"

 

Oh, _God_ , it was a Saturday, too. He couldn't even make the excuse of work.

 

Seeing no way to avoid it, Louis bottled his despair as best he could, and meandered into the brightly lit kitchen. A blur of limbs and vanilla scented curls tackled him into a bear hug the second he was through the doorway.

 

"Happy birthday, Lou!" Harry exclaimed. There was a smudge of flour on his chin and two dimples carved deeply into his cheeks.

 

Louis flushed tomato red, and hid his face in Harry's chest. "Thanks," he mumbled, trying not to squash the taller man's obvious excitement.

 

"Our little boy's all grown up now," snickered a voice from behind Harry.

 

"Indeed," agreed a second voice in a dramatic drawl. "'Twas only yesterday that he needed us."

 

Louis groaned low in his throat. Liam and Zayn wore matching smirks, and looked every bit the embarrassing mum and dad. "Who invited you two?" He grumbled, mostly to himself.

 

Harry, who was having trouble keeping his hands to himself, dwarfed Louis's hand with his own. "They're just taking the piss, honey."

 

"Nialler here too?" Louis asked politely, eyes searching out the familiar blonde head.

 

"In the loo," Harry assured him with a soft smile. "And your mum and sisters will be joining us for dinner, of course."

 

Louis turned to stone in his arms. "My mum?" He squeaked.

 

Realization dawned in Zayn's eyes first. "Relax, Lou," he tried. "This is a _good_ thing. It's been ages since you've seen Jay."

 

It _had_ been ages. The last time Louis had spoken to Johannah was in the midst of his tumultuous relationship with David. Their respective opinions on the situation, to put it delicately, were in stark contrast of one another. It had been enough to leave their relationship essentially destroyed for the indefinite future.

 

Louis's stomach churned painfully. He gripped the counter to steady himself.

 

"Should I not have done that?" Harry whispered, his eyes downcast and his hands trembling.

 

It took three long breaths, but Louis managed to find his voice. With his free hand, he brushed his thumb across Harry's jawline. "No, you did the right thing, H. Thank you. It's all so lovely of you."

 

He felt Harry relax under his touch. "Would you like a muffin?"

 

Louis accepted the pastry, grateful for the distraction of Harry's rather impressive baking skills. He was two muffins in, when he noticed the presents.

 

There were four of them, all of varying size and shape. Three were wrapped halfheartedly, but the fourth was all done up with bows and ribbons and _exact_ measurements. Louis pried his eyes away from the gifts to glare murderously at Zayn.

 

"Never, not _once_ , in all the years of our friendship have you given me a birthday present."

 

Zayn rolled his eyes back into his head. "You might not have noticed yet, but this year's going to be just a bit different that the usual." He nodded his head at the brunette man anxiously returning various baking utensils to their designated locations. "Now stop with your incessant whining, and paint on that pretty little smile."

 

The day proceeded achingly slow. Each step of the way, Louis grew more tired and more irritable. By the time the fivesome had worked their way through breakfast muffins, presents, a full English tea service, a stuffy lunch at an overpriced bistro, _and_ a frozen yoghurt run, Louis was so knackered, he nearly managed to forget about his mother's impending arrival.

 

Louis was tucked into Harry's side, taking advantage of the momentary lull in activity to rest his eyes on his favorite pillow (Harry's shoulder was _suspiciously_ comfortable), when the doorbell rang.

 

Without thinking, Louis rose to answer. The sight behind the door startled him into silence.

 

An elegant woman regarded him through a carefully expressionless face. "Louis," she said in acknowledgment.

 

Louis swallowed. "Mum."

 

-

 

Louis had hardly touched a thing in the flat since it had happened. Harry's possessions remained exactly  where  he'd  left  him  that  morning,  six  months  ago.  Louis had taken up permanent residence on the bedroom floor, still resolutely unwilling to face the bed, or to disturb the careful arrangement of pillows.

 

He shut the door behind himself quietly. Back within the four, familiar walls of the flat, he felt exponentially calmer. He noticed one of Harry's boots had been nudged out of place, and bent to straighten it.

 

Louis checked his watch. Seven-thirty. In the morning. He eyed the spot on the coffee table where he'd left a bottle of Smirnoff's finest.

 

Zayn would call it stupid. Last month, he'd torn through the place searching for every last ounce of alcohol, and taken it with him. He'd said the drinking needed to stop. He'd said it was becoming Unhealthy.

 

Louis had a different name for it. He called it necessary.

 

-

 

Louis whipped his shirt over his head, and threw it violently down. His belt nicked the wall, leaving a tiny chunk missing. Harry watched him from the corner, eyes wide.

 

 

"Lou-" he tried, but was cut abruptly off.

 

"What could have possibly possessed you to invite my _mother_?" He demanded, his eyesight going red and hazy with the force of his fury.

 

Harry, gobsmacked, didn't answer.

 

Louis stalked into the bathroom and began angrily scrubbing the lingering taste of birthday cake from his teeth. Harry padded along behind him. He closed the door softly, and leaned his long frame against it.

 

"I didn't know," he said finally. "If I had, I _never_ would have done it."

 

Louis spit out a mouthful of toothpaste and wiped the corner of his lip. He snapped the spout off, and reached for the shower head. He ran the water until it was scalding, and undressed quickly.

 

"Please," Harry tried again, tone low and pleading. "Please, Lou, talk to me."

 

Louis thrust himself beneath the spray, exhaling as the pressure massaged the tension from his shoulders. He reached for a loofa. He wanted to scour every second of this day from his skin. He set to work, dousing himself in Harry's lavender scented soaps and vanilla shampoo.

 

One peak outside of the shower revealed that Harry had never left. He'd sunk into a seated position on the floor, his back pressed up against the door, and his face in his hands.

 

Louis turned back to the water, and closed the curtain more firmly.

 

-

 

Perhaps day-drinking _had_ been a bad decision. Louis'd been making a lot of those lately.

 

He needed to sober up. One of the boys would be over soon with the dinner Louis would promise to eat, and then inevitably toss out after they'd left. If they caught him drunk again, they'd start up with the moving back in with Zayn nonsense all over again.

 

He knew he should brew a pot of coffee, but that would mean going into the kitchen.

 

One of Zayn’s tantrums, or finally facing the kitchen? Louis weighed his choices carefully. Ultimately, he struggled to his feet, and stumbled into the next room.

 

He flipped the kitchen lights on, and froze on the spot. His blood ran cold in his veins.

 

Someone was cross-legged on the countertop, a mug pressed between two palms. A red, curled mouth smiled warmly in greeting. The mouth opened. "Hello, love."

 

-

 

Harry poured himself a third cup of coffee, and settled into his chair. Louis rested his feet in Harry's lap, and pulled the manuscript he had been reading through all week in front of himself. It was a dystopian piece, and Louis was already quite invested.

 

It took him a moment to realize that Harry was staring at him from across the table. Louis sighed and set down the manuscript. "What is it?"

 

Harry looked guilty. Louis narrowed his eyes. It had been a week since their worst argument to date, and while Louis wanted to put it behind them, his stubborn boyfriend was determined not to drop it.

 

"We still haven't talked about your mum."

 

"I wouldn't hold your breath, if I were you."

 

Harry pressed relentlessly on. "How am I meant to _be there_ for you, if you won't let me in?"

 

"I have mummy issues," Louis said drily. "Satisfied?"

 

He was not. Harry, in fact, looked even more earnest than before. He leaned forward, almost knocking Louis's tea over. "I want to _understand_ , Lou. Maybe I can help. Have you ever thought of that?"

 

Louis picked the manuscript up again. "I'm not having this conversation anymore. If you're so inclined, you may continue it on your own."

 

Harry huffed loudly. "Relationships are built on honesty and openness and _trust_."

 

Louis pointedly ignored him. He knew he wouldn't win that argument.

 

-

 

Louis's first instinct, was to blame the booze.

 

"I've had some bad liquor, then," he said aloud, in a small voice.

 

The man (man?) on the counter looked confused. He frowned slightly, and Louis wanted to cry, because something so beautiful should never be _sad_.

 

"You've been drinking? It's only half past five."

 

The voice was perfect. Exactly right. All smooth velvet and delicious rasp, framed by the most luxurious lips in all of Britain. Louis's drink-addled brain did his memory every justice.

 

He wasn't sure what to do in a situation like this. For a brief moment, Louis wondered if he was, indeed, dying. But that was absurd. Why would he be dying?

 

Dreaming then. Yes, that must be it. Louis had fallen asleep, and his psyche was a masochistic little _shit_.

 

Louis tried to calm his breathing. He felt like he was on the edge of a panic attack. Determined to _get out_ of this nightmare, he squeezed his eyes shut as tight as possible, and willed himself to wake up.

 

When he reopened his eyes, the scene hadn't changed.

 

Dream Harry's frown had deepened into real concern. He slid from the counter, abandoning his mug there, and moved closer to Louis. "What's wrong? Has something happened?"

 

The irony was so ridiculous, that Louis felt himself choke on hysterical laughter. _Yes, something happened!_ He wanted to scream. _You're dead!_

 

Louis put both arms out to stop Dream Harry's advances. "This isn't real," he whispered. "This isn't real, this isn't real, this _isn't real._ "

 

"Lou," Dream Harry said in alarm. His eyebrows arched into his hairline. "I think we should get you into bed. You're not well."

 

Louis darted from the room, turning his back on the nightmarish illusion, and raced for the bathroom. He slammed the door shut, and bolted it shut. Panting and teary-eyed, Louis sat in the farthest corner, tucked his knees into his chest, and bit into his palm to keep from screaming.

 

-

 

"So you're still fighting, then?" Zayn decided after taking one look at Louis's face. He admitted Louis inside after a moment, and the brunette stomped petulantly past him.

 

"He won't let it go," Louis announced. He threw himself down on the couch and tossed an arm over his eyes. Zayn took the armchair beside of him, and crossed one leg over the other.

 

"He isn't likely to," Zayn mused.

 

Louis ripped the arm away from his face, and bolted upright. "Why the hell not? It's a simple request: _Leave well enough alone_."

 

Zayn  was  looking  at  him  as  though  he'd  grown  a  second  head  overnight.  With great condescension, he said, "Honestly, Louis. You're not this thick. He _cares_ about you, you little twit, though for the life of me I can’t understand why. He's _worried_ , and he wants to help."

 

Louis, quite determined to be as petulant as possible, laid heavily back down. "If he _cares_ so damn much, he should respect my privacy."

 

"This is what a relationship is supposed to be, Louis. You're meant to tell one another these things. Confide your secrets and whatnot."

 

Louis huffed crossly. "I have you for that."

 

Zayn's smile was tinged with sadness. "Of course you do. You _always_ will. But now there's Harry, and it's okay if he comes first." At Louis's look of alarm, Zayn sighed deeply. "I know, Lou. I know you're scared of all this. And if you want out, we'll get you out. I don't think you want that, though."

 

Louis said nothing, merely stared into the carpet.

 

"Be brave, Louis. Take a chance."

 

-

 

Louis hadn't cried like this in years. His entire body shivered and convulsed with the weight of his sobs. They swept through him in devastating waves, reducing him to a puddle of despair on the cold bathroom floor. He felt like he was drowning, like his lungs were filling rapidly with fluid, and he suddenly found that he couldn't breathe.

 

A hand, corporeal and warm, fitted itself to his shoulder. Louis jumped at the contact, knocking himself into the toilet. He turned slowly, terrified of what he'd find.

 

Green eyes bore into his. "Breathe. C'mon, darling, you can do it. Just breathe."

 

Louis struggled to take in air. He sucked in painfully. His vision was growing spotty from the lack of oxygen. The image of Harry went in and out of focus. Louis reached out, only half- conscious in his desperation to _keep him_ just a little longer, and grasped the sleeve of his white jumper.

 

Fingers prodded at Louis's neck, silently urging him to rest his head between his knees. The new position helped. After a few minutes of focus, Louis breathing came easier. He rested his feverish forehead against the wall.

 

He very nearly whispered a sincere _thank you_ , but swallowed the words when he remembered they'd be aimed at a ghost. A ghost, or a nightmare, or _whatever_ this was. In all likelihood, Louis'd been driven mad by grief.

 

"Am I losing my mind?" He asked aloud, unsure whether or not the illusion would actually answer him.

 

Harry shook his head delicately, and smiled very patiently. "No, Louis. You're just sad."

 

-

 

Harry was waiting up when Louis arrived home. He was on his feet the second Louis set a toe inside. "Hi," he said slowly.

 

He could tell Harry was bracing for a fight. But Louis was sick of fighting. He stripped off his top as he walked, letting it fall to the floor. He'd remember to pick it up later, else he knew Harry would be upset. But right in this moment, there was something far more pressing on his mind.

 

"Hi," Louis returned as he reached Harry. He wrapped an arm around the taller man's neck, pulling his face down to his level. Harry reacted instantly, pushing his tongue into Louis's mouth and angling his head so their lips molded together perfectly.

 

Louis's fingers nimbly undid Harry's belt. Once he’d ripped it off, he reached for his own. "So you want to know me?" He asked breathily, pulling minutely away.

 

Harry's eyes were dark with _want_. "Yes. Everything, all of you. Tell me."

 

Louis pulled them both down. He inhaled against Harry's pulse point. "All of me."

 

-

 

"A good night's rest will do you a world of good," the ghost said imploringly. "And no more of this floor nonsense. We have a bed for a _reason_ , Louis."

 

Louis had stopped his uncontrollable shaking, and he now sat very still. "I should tell someone," Louis murmured to himself.  "Zayn, or...Liam  maybe. That I'm being haunted by my dead boyfriend. That I've officially hit rock bottom."

 

Harry hummed consolingly. "You'll worry yourself sick. Look how _thin_ you've gotten. And your hair could certainly stand for a trim."

 

"But then I run the risk of being locked up in a nuthouse for the rest of my life," Louis mused, pretending he couldn't hear Harry's incessant fussing, "and I'm not sure which fate is more pathetic."

 

"Louis would you just _stop_ for a second?"

 

Louis stopped. He held his hands up to his mouth, and bit down into his knuckle.

 

Harry, placated, sat cross-legged in front of him. For a long moment, they simply stared at one another in silence.

 

He was as lovely as ever, ghost or not. The same long trickles of brunette curls. The same bow- shaped lips. The same murky pools of green for eyes. He was even, Louis noticed, wearing the soft blue jumper he'd stolen from Louis years upon years ago.

 

It was Louis who first broke the silence. He cleared his throat, trying and failing to dislodge the golf ball sized lump blocking up his windpipe, and asked, "Why are you here?"

 

Harry looked taken aback by the question, though Louis would have thought it a fairly obvious inquiry to begin with. "You needed me," he returned automatically.

 

Louis wrapped his arms around his own shoulders, holding himself together even when he most felt like splintering. "This isn't real," he reminded himself. He couldn't forget that. He _wouldn't_ forget that. "You died. On January 16, 2017, Harry Styles was pronounced dead on arrival at nine twenty-seven a.m."

 

They had told him (the doctors at London Memorial and the on-staff grief counselor that had tailed him for an hour) that saying the facts aloud would give him closure. Make it feel real, even despite the fact that learning your partner was lying dead in a morgue seemed utterly ridiculous.

 

The  words  slid  into  him  now  like  a  knife,  mercilessly stabbing  into  the  surface  just  above  his  heart.

 

Harry didn't bother trying to contradict him. "Yes."

 

"So why can I see you? Why can I hear you?"

 

Harry looked deeply troubled. "Why question it? I'm _here_. Isn't that enough?"

 

Louis shook his head vehemently. " _No_ , it is not _enough_! I am, right this very second, _conversing_ with the deceased. I would count on a couple of questions if I were you."

 

Harry said nothing to this. He sat back on his heels and gave Louis a pleading look.

 

"See," Louis whispered. "I knew this wasn't real."

 

-

 

Things were...better, Louis supposed.

 

He swirled the blood red wine in his long-stemmed glass and leaned against the fridge. Harry was in the living room entertaining, and he had put Louis in charge of minding the roast. Both responsibilities were Harry’s area of expertise, but unfortunately for Louis, he couldn't cover two tasks at the same time.

 

Leaving Louis with the oven. Extensive research suggested this was not the best idea.

 

But then again, neither was leaving Louis alone in a room with his mother.

 

He sighed. Harry'd positively _insisted_ on this dinner, and it was becoming harder every day for Louis to deny him anything.

 

"You'll never fix anything if you refuse to try," Harry had said when the idea of dinner had initially been brought up. "I don't want you to have to live with that kind of regret."

 

If anything, Louis regretted that he'd _agreed_ to this clusterfuck at all.

 

Someone behind him coughed. Louis turned and found himself face to face with Johannah Deakin herself.

 

She smiled tentatively, then faltered and let it drop. "I thought I'd come see if you needed any help with the food?"

 

This _reeked_ of Harry's influence. She was practically reading off of a script.

 

Too much of a coward to face her only son without backup. Louis was unsurprised, and even more so, unimpressed.

 

Whatever. He'd promised to _try_.

 

"Nope, all set. Just waiting for the timer to go off," he said shortly. "Five more minutes."

 

Jay paused, probably wondering if she could make her escape yet. She lingered in her indecision. "Perhaps, we could...talk. While you're waiting for the roast to finish, I mean." She wrung her hands nervously.

 

Louis squeezed his eyes shut. He took a long pull from his wine glass. "I...suppose that would be alright."

 

This time, the smile seemed markedly more genuine. She pulled out one of the stools and sat. After a long moment, she said, "Why don't you tell me about yourself? What have you been up to since we last spoke?"

 

The last time they had spoken was on Louis's train wreck of a birthday, but he knew she didn't mean that particular evening. They'd barely exchanged two words throughout the entire dinner. No, she meant four years ago.

 

"There's not much to tell," Louis mumbled into his glass.

 

Jay cocked her head. "Well that can't be true. Your life is completely different now than it was then." She nodded in the direction of the living room. " _He's_ relatively new, isn't he? This flat is new."

 

"Yes," he could feel a headache coming on fast. "I guess things are a bit different now."

 

She made a face, but bit her tongue. Louis could practically _feel_ her holding back what she truly wished to say. It wasn't like she'd never said it before, either. Louis'd gotten an _earful_ four years ago. She couldn't say enough on the subject of Louis's personal life.

 

"I like Harry very much," she said instead. "He's incredibly handsome, and such a charming boy. How long have you two been together?"

 

Louis needed more wine. "Almost two years."

 

Jay seemed pleased by this. "And you live together. Which means it's serious." She hesitated. "You love this boy?"

 

Louis spluttered, thrown off balance by her bluntness. It was a question he spent a considerable amount of energy _ignoring_. He knew better than anyone that love was the most dangerous weapon in existence. The last time he'd loved someone, it had nearly killed him. It was not a matter he took lightly.

 

It was, also, not something he and Harry had ever actually discussed.

 

The oven timer chimed, rescuing Louis at exactly the right moment. He leapt into action, throwing himself at the roast in a flurry of furious movement. "Looks good," he said, pointedly not looking back at his mother. "Harry's quite the chef around here."

 

The moment had passed. Louis called Harry into the kitchen, ignoring his inquisitive glances, and busied himself with setting the table.

 

-

 

Louis came to with an aching neck and a screaming back. His head was stiff, and tilted at an uncomfortable angle between the toilet and the shower. He couldn't remember falling asleep, but judging by the weak morning light filtering in through the bathroom window, it was morning.

 

He felt painfully sober. Everything was too sharp and too bright. He groaned and sat up slowly.

 

He was alone.

 

The relief hit him first. It had been a dream after all. He wasn't going slowly mad.

 

He hadn't been expecting the grief. He hadn't expected a sensation of loss so overwhelming, it felt as though Harry had died all over again. His chest hurt so badly, he wondered for a moment if his heart was going to explode.

 

It didn't.

 

Louis tried very hard not to be disappointed.

 

-

 

"You did so good today," Harry mouthed sleepily into Louis's shoulder. "M'so proud of you."

 

"It's a start, I guess," Louis said quietly. He paused. "She likes you, you know. A lot. More than me, probably."

 

Harry laughed, but shook his head. "She loves you so much, Lou."

 

"How could you tell? The whole time it looked like she was waiting for an opportunity to run out the door."

 

"Way she looks at you," Harry mumbled, his grasp on consciousness slipping. "Like you're the center of the universe."

 

"Now I definitely think you're hallucinating."

 

Harry’s brows furrowed in adorable confusion.  "You’re the center of _mine_ ," he protested drowsily, whatever point he was attempting to make lost by the shutting of his eyelids.

 

Louis bit down on his lip. He heard Harry's breathing even out, and felt his arms around Louis slip from his waist. Louis waited a few minutes, and when he was certain that Harry was asleep, he whispered, "I love you."

 

-

 

A cupboard slammed in the kitchen. Louis bolted upright, wincing involuntarily as his head protested the abrupt movements. He moved tentatively, easing upright and trudging slowly towards the kitchen.

 

"Zayn?" He guessed. It wouldn't be all that unusual for him to pop in unannounced. He'd made himself a key years ago, and had no qualms with using it whenever he pleased.

 

It wasn't Zayn. Louis's stomach rolled painfully. "I think I'm going to be sick," he warned, before he vomited bile all over the kitchen floor.

 

-

 

Harry practically skipped into the pub. He greeted Louis with a loud, smacking kiss across the mouth, and settled himself comfortably in his boyfriend's lap. "Evening lads," he called, addressing his subjects with an almost royal air. "I come bearing exciting news."

 

Four eager faces turned to him in anticipation.

 

"You're pregnant?" Niall guessed, snickering into his lager.

 

Harry rolled his eyes. "Not just yet, young Nialler, but I'll keep you updated." He shook out his beautiful curls from where they'd been tied back with an elastic. "Any other guesses?"

 

"Out with it," Louis demanded, smiling in encouragement. He'd never been much a fan of surprises, and his skin prickled with nerves.

 

"Oh, alright," Harry agreed with a sigh that spelled out his disappoint. "You're all no fun."

 

"I think," Zayn drawled, "I shall live." He waved a hand. "Carry on."

 

Harry looked as if he was on the brink of bursting. Laughter bubbled up and spilled out, a lovely sort of music to Louis's ears. "My mum and sister are coming to visit!" He cried gleefully, bouncing ecstatically in Louis's lap, like a child on Christmas morning. "I told them they could stay with us, if that's alright with my live-in boyfriend, of course?" He glanced questioningly down at Louis.

 

Louis had heard Harry wax poetic about his family for two years now, though he'd yet to meet them in person. Harry'd claimed they preferred the country to London and hated to travel very far, but Louis strongly suspected he'd kept them at arm's length on purpose. For Louis's sake.

 

And now Louis was meant to be ready. To finally meet Harry's mum and sister, the two women he loved and respected the most in the world.

 

He realized Harry was still staring at him, waiting for confirmation that it was, indeed, a plan he approved of. "They couldn't possibly stay anywhere else," he said carefully. "It'll be lovely to get to know your family."

 

Harry beamed like the sun. Louis's heart faltered, then skipped three beats. God, he'd do just about _anything_ to make Harry smile like that. Move Heaven and Earth. Rearrange the stars.

 

Niall crowed. "Anne's coming to town, is she? And the beautiful Gemma, too!"

 

Liam tipped his glass at Harry. "That's wonderful," he said genuinely. "I'm looking forward to being introduced."

 

Even Zayn seemed vaguely excited. His grin was dark and indecipherable. Quick, black eyes darted minutely to Louis before he echoed, "Wonderful."

 

But Harry only had eyes for Louis. He pressed his hands to either side of Louis's face and kissed him exuberantly. "I'm so glad," he whispered privately into Louis's ear. "My mother will adore you. And I'm _sure_ you'll get on with Gemma. Everyone does."

 

"I'm excited to meet them," Louis said, his voice only trembling slightly.

 

"It means so much," Harry breathed. "God, so fucking much."

 

-

 

"You're," Louis's mouth tasted acidic, and his threat burned. He faltered, coughed, then tried again. "You're still here."

 

Harry was calmly pouring a cup of tea. He returned the kettle to the stove, and held the cup out in silent offering. "I am."

 

Louis stared at his hand without blinking. He didn't reach for the tea, and eventually Harry sighed and withdrew the cup. "How're you feeling?" He asked carefully. "I've been so worried about you."

 

Louis kneaded two fingers into his temple. "I think I...need to sit down." He lowered himself onto a stool.

 

Harry looked soft and warm this morning. His hair was half-up, falling messily around his face in curled tendrils. His silky shirt was unbuttoned down to his belly button, and an ornate cross necklace was nestled between two, neatly inked sparrows.

 

He kept a safe distance of several meters between himself and Louis at all times. Louis watched him wearily as he moved slowly around the kitchen, preparing breakfast exactly as he used to. He hummed softly under his breath as he danced back and forth from the sink to the stove, cleaning meticulously up after himself.

 

He placed the finished product before Louis. It was four servings too many. "Eat," he commanded gently, his eyes betraying very real concern. "Please. We'll talk after."

 

Louis stomach raged with hunger in a way that it hadn't in months. God, when was the last time he'd eaten a decent meal? When was the last time he'd had even the hint of an _appetite?_ He dove into the pile of food with the grace and manners of a wild animal.

 

Harry watched him in silence. He ate nothing. Louis tried very hard not to think about why.

 

Louis ate every last morsel that had been placed in front of him. He stared at his empty plate in disbelief. "Jesus," he muttered.

 

"You can't continue on like this," Harry murmured. "You _have_ to start taking care of yourself, Lou. Beginning with proper meals."

 

"Don't suppose it matters much," Louis admitted in a dead voice. "Don't suppose anything matters much these days."

 

Harry sighed dejectedly. "Louis."

 

"Don't lecture me," Louis said, glowering down at his plate to keep his eyes off of his dead boyfriend. "You're not here. You have no _fucking_ idea what this feels like."

 

Harry's voice was thick with thinly-veiled emotion. "Don't I?"

 

Louis finally looked up. He leveled a cold stare at Harry. _Fuck_ , it hurt to look at him. The massive hole in his chest throbbed and ached at the sight. "You. Are. Dead," he bit forcefully out. " _You_ left _me_."

 

"I know I did," Harry said quietly. He ducked his head in shame. "I know you can't forgive me for that, not yet anyway. But you have to know, Lou, if I had been given the choice, I would _never_ have chosen to leave you."

 

"Yes, well. It's all very arbitrary, isn't it?" He said coldly. "Wishes and regrets are pointless. We can't exactly change the past."

 

Harry bit down on his bottom lip. "I don't want you to be angry forever. It's no kind of life."

 

"I'll do as I like," Louis snapped, trying furiously to blink away hot, urgent tears. "I'll be whatever the _fuck_ I want to be."

 

For an uncomfortable stretch, Harry said nothing. Finally, he reached across the island for the empty dish, refilled it, and replaced it in front of Louis.

 

Louis noticed, for the first time, that his marveling at seeing Harry again had made him overlook the tired lines worn into his face. He looked exhausted.

 

Louis decided not to protest when Harry asked him, again, to eat.

 

-

 

Harry hadn't been overselling Anne. She was brilliant. Beautiful, warm, maternal, even _funny_. Being near her was calming, like lying out on a hot, sandy beach beneath a cloudless sky. Louis could instantly tell where Harry had inherited his charm.

 

Gemma was practically Harry's twin. Her expressions were so alike to those of her brother, that Louis could scarcely tell them apart at times. He liked her easy laugh, her chipper smile, her stupid jokes.

 

Harry caught his eye, and smiled brilliantly. He was practically exuding sunbeams from his very pores. The second his family turned away, he was on Louis. Louis returned the kiss with a laugh, hugging the larger boy to his chest.

 

"Easy, love," Louis chuckled against Harry's mouth. "We _do_ have company, you know."

 

Harry's eyes darkened deliciously. "I _really_ don't care right now." He kissed Louis again, harder this time.

 

Anne, noticing, raised a delicate eyebrow and whistled low. "Should we give you boys some alone time? There's always the hotel option."

 

Harry slid off of Louis's lap, flushing a pretty pink color. "Sorry, mum," he said, though he didn't sound even remotely sorry. "Quit it with the hotel talk. I want you here. _We_ want you here."

 

Gemma's eyes twinkled. She looked pointedly at where Harry's hand was still pressed against Louis's upper-thigh. "Looks like _you_ want to get laid."

 

Louis froze in discomfort, but Harry merely grinned wider. "Not any more than I want to spend time with my two favorite ladies."

 

Anne snorted. "You, my favorite son, are full of shit."

 

-

 

Louis heard a key turn in the lock, and promptly dropped his cup. Shattered glass littered the floor, and Harry turned abruptly towards the sound. "Lou-" he started, but was cut off by heavy footsteps headed for the kitchen.

 

Zayn and Liam rounded the corner, spotted Louis in the kitchen, and painted on matching smiles. "Morning," Liam offered. "It's nice to see you up so early."

 

Louis knew the second Liam's eyes landed on the remains of his breakfast. He made a strangled noise, and nudged Zayn with his shoulder. Louis looked indifferently away.

 

"You made breakfast?" Zayn asked slowly, sounding extremely unsure.

 

Obviously Louis hadn't made breakfast. What was the _matter_ with them? Did they not see-

 

Louis's eyes met an empty kitchen, where Harry had been standing only seconds earlier. Oh.

 

"Attempted," Louis choked as he stumbled over the word. "It was a better idea in theory."

 

The lies came easily. Louis always had been good at pretending. He was grateful now for all the time he'd spent in a youth theatre program so many years ago.

 

Zayn and Liam bought it without a word of protest. They _wanted_ him to be better so desperately, they were willing to accept any lie that supported his progress.

 

"It's good, Lou," Liam breathed, trying and failing to contain his enthusiasm. "Really, really good." He laughed and held up a grocery bag. "Guess we won't be needing these." He began unloading his purchases into Louis's cupboards.

 

Zayn circled the room, stopping every once in a while to examine Louis's plate, and the freshly washed kitchenware drying in the sink. "Must've been hungry," he commented to no one in particular. "Looks like you used an entire carton of eggs."

 

Louis wouldn't put it past Harry. He'd been much too hungry to pay attention to how much food he was actually consuming. God, had it been _that many?_

 

"Suppose that sounds about right," Louis said after a moment. "Did you lads want anything?" He paused. "To eat, I mean."

 

Liam was whistling, looking as though he were five seconds away from breaking out into song and dance. "Not just now, darling. Would you like a cup of tea? I'll put the kettle on." He swept into motion without waiting for a reply.

 

 

Zayn came from behind, hooking an arm over Louis's shoulder. He squeezed, and Louis leaned unconsciously into the embrace. "Proud of you," he murmured in undertone.

 

 

Guilt twisted like a hot knife is Louis's stomach. He bit down and into his tongue until he tasted blood.

 

-

 

Louis hadn't been expecting anyone to be up at this hour, so naturally when he noticed the dark figure on the couch, he jumped.

 

"Oh, sorry," came Anne's cool voice. "Didn't mean to give you such a fright, sweetheart."

 

Louis pressed a hand to his rabbiting heart. "No worries."

 

Annie studied him. "It's a bit late, isn't it? Couldn't sleep?"

 

"Not really, no."

 

She smiled conspiratorially. "Me either." She patted the cushion next to her, and gestured Louis over. "Come. Sit with me. I'd like to get to know you better, Louis."

 

Louis sat obediently. He hesitated, flushed, then asked, "Why can't _you_ sleep?"

 

Anne considered him for a moment, before leaning in. "Just between you and me," she said lowly, "it's all very strange. Seeing my son like this." She waved off Louis's look of concern. "No, no, you misunderstand me. I'm just being silly, old mum. Children grow up eventually, right? I suppose not seeing him in so long, I've managed to convince myself he's still my little boy."

 

Louis wasn't sure what to say. He stared at his own, clasped hands, and wished desperately for the right words.

 

"He's been practically bouncing off the walls," Louis said. "Since he heard you were coming for a visit.”

 

Anne smiled dreamily at that. "He's always been such a mama's boy." She seemed to remember Louis. "So you've heard my silly maternal woes. What's keeping you up, then?"

 

Louis wasn't quite sure he knew, himself. He'd laid down beside Harry that night, and had found himself wide awake. Three hours later, he was as far from asleep as he'd ever been.

 

"Just...insomnia, I 'spose." Surely Anne didn't need all the gory details.

 

She scrutinized him for a long moment. She reached a hand out, and placed it atop Louis's knee. "I know I'm still practically a stranger to you, honey," she said softly, "but you're a part of my family now, and I take care of my own. Do you understand?"

 

Louis tried to swallow, but a lump had begun to form in his throat, constricting his airway and making it decidedly more difficult to breathe. He cleared his throat, but the blockage wouldn't budge. "I, uh, I don't really have...a mother. Well, I mean, I do. But," he made a frustrated noise, "it's difficult."

 

Anne nodded. The hand on his knee squeezed sympathetically. "Life is really quite fucked up, isn't it?"

 

Louis looked up sharply, surprised. "Yeah," he agreed instinctively. "Yeah, it really is."

 

Anne's smile was tired, but it warmed even the bleakest corners of Louis's heart. "My son is very happy with you," she said. "The happiest I've ever seen him. I'd like to thank you for that."

 

Louis's blush went unnoticed in the darkness. "He's...everything," Louis murmured. "The sun, after an eternity of clouds. Fresh air after I've been drowning for so long." He shook his head lightly, and cleared his throat roughly. "I should be thanking _you_."

 

"Oh, honey," Anne pulled him very suddenly into a suffocating embrace.

 

Louis, to his own surprise, didn't want her to let go.

 

-

 

"Anne's been calling," Zayn said casually.

 

Louis's entire body itched. The sun felt like hot fire against his skin, and the wafting scent of sugar was almost nauseating. He'd protested this outing until he was blue in the face, but Zayn, newly energized by the breakfast breakthrough that morning, was unshakable.

 

The bakery was overcrowded and loud. Why was it that everyone felt the incessant need to _scream_ their conversations? A migraine thrummed painfully at the base of Louis's temple. He fought the urge to lay his head flat against the tabletop until the pain ceased.

 

He just wanted to go home.

 

Zayn's long fingers nimbly picked apart the blueberry muffin he'd ordered. He hadn't actually eaten a bite of it, and Louis strongly suspected he'd only ordered it to encourage the consumption of sugary food products. He looked up from his crumbs now, arching an eyebrow, and awaiting a reaction.

 

Louis stirred his black coffee with a straw, and artfully crafted his expression into one of mild interest. "Has she?"

 

"She wants to see you. Said she's tried calling for weeks now."

 

Louis wouldn't know. He'd blocked her number from his phone ages ago. "Interesting."

 

"You can't ignore her forever, Louis. There are legal matters to think about."

 

He'd answered one of the calls, right after it had happened. Anne had mentioned something about Harry's will (or, more accurately, lack thereof), but Louis hadn't cared then and he certainly couldn't give less of a shit now.

 

"I'm sure it's all been straightened out by now."

 

Zayn frowned. "Louis. It's _Anne_. You're honestly going to refuse to speak with her?"

 

"That's the plan."

 

"You're impossible."

 

Louis knew he was being unreasonable. Anne didn't deserve this kind of treatment. She'd cared for Louis like her own, and now it was almost as if she'd lost _two_ sons.

 

Sons.

 

Louis shut his eyes. Wrapped his fingers around his spoon until it hurt. Until he could _feel_.

 

When his eyes reopened, Zayn was staring at him. "Louis-"

 

"Don't," he snapped coldly. "I'm _fine_."

 

-

 

"I've been thinking," Louis said. "Maybe I could...try again, with Jay."

 

Harry went rigid beside him. "What's brought this healthy, new attitude on?"

 

"Shut up."

 

Harry flipped onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. "I'm serious, Louis."

 

"Nothing _brought this_ _on_. I just think, maybe I've been a bit...unfair to my mum. Maybe I'd like to try and make peace with her."

 

"That's," Harry tripped over his own words, his eyes bright with excitement. "Louis, that's excellent!"

 

Louis chewed thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek. "Maybe I'll...maybe I'll ring her tomorrow. Ask her to dinner, or something." He hesitated, eternally unsure. "Do you," he mentally cursed his own faltering, and tried again. "Do you think she'd want to?"

 

He wasn't expecting Harry's mouth, hot and hard on his. He responded immediately, cradling a hand beneath Harry's head, and sighing contentedly against his lips. When Harry eventually pulled away, Louis was breathless.

 

"Yes," Harry whispered, very seriously. "Of course she will, Lou. Ring her first thing in the morning, yeah?"

 

Louis fisted the thin cotton fabric of Harry's tee in one hand, keeping him close. He buried his face into the warm crook of Harry's neck, inhaling deeply. "You'll come with me?"

 

Gentle lips brushed against the top of his head. "Yes, of course," Harry breathed. "Always."

 

Louis felt safe. He slowly brought his arms up, and wound them around Harry's neck. He listened in awe as their heartbeats aligned, the synchronization like a well-practiced duet. He counted out thirty beats before he'd finally worked up the courage to whisper, "H?"

 

"Mm?"

 

He took a deep, steadying breath. "You know that I, uh," he swallowed. _Don't be a coward_ , he screamed at himself. _Just fucking say it_. "You know that I...love you? Don't you?" It was a meek, pathetic little question, and Louis cringed hard. He tried again, stronger. "I love you, Harry."

 

Harry had gone very still. Louis was suddenly grateful that his face was hidden; that he couldn't make out Harry's expression.

 

"I love you, too," Harry said, with the kind of certainty that rang true in every syllable. He laughed, boisterous and giddy, and rolled on top of Louis. " _God_ , I love you," he murmured, between long, lethargic kisses. "I've loved you for... _forever_."

 

"You do?" Louis asked. His every nerve was aflame, aching for Harry's touch. "You have?"

 

"Yes," Harry returned. The softest, prettiest sound escaped his parted lips. "I was made for it."

 

-

 

Harry was waiting when Louis got home.

 

"How was the bakery?" He asked pleasantly, every inch the perfect gentleman.

 

Louis stripped off his light jacket and hung it neatly in the closet. He toed off his black converse and edged them into place, beside Harry's favorite pair of black, leather boots. He shuffled past Harry, careful not to touch, and headed into the bedroom.

 

He didn't have to check over his shoulder to know he was being tailed.

 

"Are you ignoring me?" An amused voice asked from behind.

 

"Trying to," Louis mumbled under his breath. He sprawled out on his makeshift bed, eyes snapping resolutely shut.

 

"Enough with this floor nonsense," the voice said, sounding distinctly irked. "There is a _double bed_ exactly five paces to your right."

 

Louis ignored him.

 

The voice exhaled a sharp breath of air. Exasperated, it informed him, "I know you aren't sleeping. _Honestly_ , Louis, five years I've spent waking up next to you. You really think I can't tell when you're faking it to avoid a conversation?"

 

Louis opened his eyes a crack, just widely enough to work up a half-hearted glare. "I wouldn't have to _fake it_ , if you would quit your goddamn _fussing_." He rolled over. "That's the kind of luck I've got. My bleeding hallucination is _incessantly chatty_."

 

It worked. Harry fell silent.

 

After a moment, Louis flipped over. Harry hadn't evaporated, or even so much as moved an inch.

 

"Exactly long are you planning on haunting me?" He demanded when Harry still said nothing. "Are we talking days, months, _years?_ "

 

Harry rolled his eyes. "I am not haunting you, Louis, you utterly _ridiculous_ prat."

 

"Then what is this?'

 

"I've already told you. You needed me." He spread his arms. "Here I am."

 

Louis looked up at him indignantly. "You think _this_ is what I need?" He laughed bitterly. "You honestly think this makes _anything_ better?"

 

Harry leaned heavily against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest. "You need help," he said, very simply.

 

"I _do not_ -"

 

"Lou, c'mon," Harry interrupted him quietly. "It's me. You don't need to pretend for me. You never have. Why start now?"

 

The energy it was taking to maintain a scowl was wearing on Louis. It slipped from his features. He felt the anger seep out of his body, leaving him drained and exhausted. He nuzzled his cheek into his pillow and brought a hand up to cover his eyes.

 

"I need help," he admitted, the words an exhale almost lost to the silence.

 

Warm fingers pulled Louis's hand from his eyes. Harry was knelt down beside him, his eyes sad, but so familiar that Louis's chest ached hollowly.

 

"I know, darling," Harry said. He carded a hand through Louis's mussed locks. "It'll all be alright. I'll help you."

 

-

 

"Would you like another glass of wine, Johannah?" Harry asked smoothly, indicating the bottle of red he'd purchased for the table.

 

"I'm quite alright, for the moment," she answered, smiling nervously across the table. She pushed a carefully diced piece of fish around her plate in uniform circles.

 

Harry was not going to be deterred. "How was your food?"

 

Louis shot a sideways glance his way.

 

Jay took a long pull from her wine glass. Her dark lipstick smudged against the rim. "It was excellent, thank you. This is a lovely little restaurant. Do you come here often?"

 

Harry's smile was soft and warm. He touched Louis's hand beneath the table, interlocking their fingers. "Lou and I actually went on our first date here. It's," he searched for the exact rights words, "historically significant."

 

Jay's eyes flickered to Louis's face, then quickly slid them back to her plate. "How nice."

 

Harry nudged Louis hard. " _Say something_ ," he hissed under his breath.

 

Louis rubbed at his shoulder and kicked Harry lightly in the shin. He turned to his mother. "I, uh, want  to  thank  you  for  agreeing  to  come  to  dinner  tonight,"  he  said  slowly.  "I've  been really...looking forward to this."

 

Jay's eyes widened in surprise. She leaned forward in her chair, narrowly missing her wine glass as her arm shot out to lightly touch Louis's arm. "I was so pleased to be invited," she told him. "I'd like to be a part of your life, if that would be possible."

 

Harry was smiling encouragingly beside Louis, his thumb stroking an intricate pattern into the back of his hand. Louis could _feel_ the excitement buzzing under his skin, tangible and bursting at the seams. He wondered how long it would take for Harry to begin noticeably bouncing in his seat.

 

"I, uh," he stammered. A fist had wrapped around his airway, and his vision darkened with dark spots. He loosened his collar, and struggled to his feet. "I need some air."

 

The second he hit the doors, Louis had one hand down his pocket, rummaging madly for a cigarette. He took it between two trembling fingers, placing it between his teeth. It took him six tries before he could get it lit.

 

He inhaled deeply. The trembling subsided.

 

Louis froze at the sound of footsteps crunching along from behind him. "Please don't lecture me, H. I can't hear it right now."

 

"I actually asked Harry to wait for us back at the table," said a distinctly feminine voice, and one that obviously did not belong to his much huskier-toned boyfriend.

 

Louis said nothing. He stared at the pavement beneath his feet and resolutely refused to turn and face his mother.

 

"I didn't know you smoked," Jay said after the silence had become unbearable. "Nasty little habit, that."

 

Louis snorted. "Thank you, _mother_ , for that astute observation. Picked it up right about when you exited my life."

 

"Louis."

 

Something in her tone made Louis turn. Jay wrung her hands before him. She gave him a pleading look. "Tell me what to say," she said.

 

"What?"

 

"Tell me what you'd like for me to say. What can I say that will make you forgive me? Isn't there anything, Louis?" Her eyes were wet with unshed tears. "I'm your mother. I love you so much, more than you could ever hope to comprehend. I always have, and I always will."

 

Louis took another drag. He kicked at a clump of dirt with the toe of his Converse. "Look," he said quietly. "I'm no good at this."

 

Jay nodded. "I know. It's my fault, really. After Daniel...,"

 

Louis flinched hard at the name. He tried to appear unaffected, recollecting himself in record time. "That happened a long time ago," he inhaled sharply. "Things are different now. _I'm_ different now." He hoped he was. He hoped.

 

"Of course you are, Louis," she agreed quickly. "You're strong. Happy. You make me so very proud."

 

He laughed bitterly. "That makes one of us."

 

Jay brow furrowed. "Why did you invite me here tonight?"

 

"I don't know."

 

"You don't?" She sounded unconvinced.

 

Louis huffed. "I don't _know_." He went to take another drag, and yelped when he realized the cigarette had burned down to the filter. He flicked it away, and rubbed his singed fingers against his jeans. " _Fuck_!"

 

Jay sighed loudly, and reached for his hand. "Let me see it, Louis."

 

He yanked his arm away. "It's nothing. It's just a little burn. I've done it a thousand times over, I'll do it a thousand more."

 

She retreated with a nod, and roped her arms around her abdomen. "If you want me to go, I'll go." Her lower lip trembled. Despite everything, Louis didn't want to see his mother cry. Didn't want to _make_ his mother cry.

 

"No," he said quietly. "Please don't leave. I'm sorry." He cleared the lump from his throat with a cough. "I, uh, want to...work on this. That's why I asked you to dinner. I want to try." He paused, attempting to collect his scattered thoughts. "It's all just...a lot."

 

Jay extended a hand. After a moment, Louis accepted it. She squeezed lightly.

 

"One step at a time. We'll take it slow."

 

-

 

Louis drew his knees up to his chest, and tried to breathe normally. Across from him, Harry copied his movements and mirrored his position. Louis's face felt sore and puffy from crying, and a part of him cowered in embarrassment at the thought of Harry, _lovely_ Harry, seeing him like this.

 

"What are you thinking?" Harry asked softly, interrupting Louis's train of thought.

 

Louis blushed, his every emotion transparent. "Nothing,” he mumbled. "'M not thinking anything."

 

Harry smiled a sultry, secret smile he'd always reserved for Louis and Louis only. "You've never been able to lie to me. It boggles my mind why you still try to."

 

"Okay, well I'm _trying_ not to think about anything. Satisfied?"

 

"I'm here with you," Harry answered simply. "Of course I am."

 

Louis stared at without blinking for a long time. He swore, and conceded. "I was thinking— earlier—that you're the single most beautiful creature in this entire world. That you're more brilliant than the sun."

 

Harry, awe-struck, opened and closed his mouth. He tucked a stray curl behind his ear. "I love you," he said finally.

 

"You mean 'loved'?" Louis asked drily.

 

Harry shook his head. "It's something you'll learn," he explained. "Death ends life, but it never ends love."

 

-

 

"Happy anniversary," Harry sang noisily into Louis's ear.

 

Louis's eyes cracked open. He was lying flat on his back, the duvet covers wrapped loosely around his hips, and half of a body stretched out on top of his. It took him a full minute to register Harry's words.

 

"Morning," he rasped. "Happy anniversary." He rested a flat palm at the base of Harry's spine, pulling him closer. "Three years, huh? Not sick of me yet, I suppose?"

 

Harry rolled his eyes, but the grin nearly splitting his face in two gave him away. "Not just yet. And what about you?"

 

Louis's expression became very serious. "I'll never be sick of you."

 

He was rewarded with a long, slow kiss. Harry sighed contentedly into Louis's mouth, and nestled further into his embrace. When he eventually pulled away, Louis was feeling very warm and exceptionally pleased with himself.

 

"Did'ya get me a present?" Harry asked with a toothy smile.

 

Louis narrowed his eyes. "Well what've you done to deserve one?"

 

Harry sat abruptly up, slipping from Louis's grasp. He crossed his arms and scowled. " _Excuse_ me? An anniversary gift is not something one has to _deserve_ , Louis. Surely you jest."

 

"On the contrary, I've never been more serious."

 

Harry pressed his hand over his heart in mock outrage. "I suppose this means I won't be giving you _yours_ then." His mouth curled tellingly. "You know. As you haven't earned it and such."

 

Louis shrugged his shoulders. "If that's the way you feel about it, darling, I won't protest."

 

Harry scrutinized him for a long minute, his brow furrowing in contemplation. At length, he snuggled back down against Louis's chest, and secured an arm around his waist. "Would you like your present now, or shall we wait until tonight?"

 

Louis pressed a kiss into his hair. "Let's just lie here for a bit. This is nice."

 

"Yeah," Harry agreed quickly. "This is nice."

 

-

 

Louis woke up feeling inexplicably comfortable, and the most well-rested he'd been in months. Before he'd even opened his eyes, he knew something was different.

 

It took him a minute to realize that, for the first time in what felt like a matter of _decades_ , there was a second presence in his makeshift bed. He stiffened immediately, frozen in sudden fear. In a trembling voice, he called out, "H?"

 

A warm, comforting arm reached out. Long fingers began massaging a pattern into his side.

 

"I'm here," Harry promised from behind. "You're alright, honey. It's just me."

 

Louis exhaled. "Just you," he murmured, coaxing his heart rate back down to normal speeds. He tried to relax his muscles, but they strained and coiled in anticipation of a quick escape.  "Just my dead lover returned to me from _beyond the grave_. All that's missing is a pottery wheel for fuck's sake."

 

He heard Harry heave a sigh beside his ear. "Louis, please."

 

"What?" Louis asked quietly. "It's true, isn't it?"

 

"Let's just not think about it," Harry requested in a small voice.

 

Louis was _trying_ not to think about it. Honestly, he was. But the harder he attempted to avoid the truth, the louder it screamed at him. He shifted in discomfort, before finally giving up, and rising to his feet.

 

"I need to get out of this flat," he muttered under his breath, rubbing at his tired eyes.

 

Harry watched him silently as he paced the length of the room.

 

"Need to be around _people_ ," his eyes flickered involuntarily to Harry before he continued. " _Living_ people."

 

"So go," Harry said evenly. "Don't let me keep you."

 

Louis turned on him in surprise. "And then what? You'll be waiting when I get back? Or are you planning on following me wherever I go?"

 

Harry turned away quickly, but Louis couldn't miss the way his expression twisted in pain. "I would never do anything to upset you, if I can help it." He swallows audibly. "I can go, Lou, if that's what you want. I can leave, and not come back."

 

The anger vanished as quickly as it had come on. The weight of Harry's offer knocked the air from Louis's chest, and he was suddenly caught up in a fight to remain upright. He placed a hand flat against the wall to steady himself. His breath came to him in violent gasps.

 

" _No_ ," it came out a half-strangled, barely coherent yelp. Louis wrapped an arm around his midsection, feeling quite distinctly like his internal organs might spill out onto the hardwood floors at any moment.

 

He didn't register Harry's movements, until the taller boy was standing directly in front of him. Two icy palms encased Louis's face, forcing him to focus. Harry was close, closer than Louis's allowed him so far.

 

"Okay," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere, love. Hey, look at me. I'm here. I won't leave you."

 

It was instinctive. Louis didn't even have to think about it. He pulled Harry in, easy as breathing, and fastened his lips to Harry's. Half-expecting him to turn to smoke in his arms, Louis nearly blacked out when he felt Harry's mouth open under his in response.

 

"I love you," Louis gasped, breaking minutely away. "So much, I feel like I'm _dying_." He stroked a gentle path down Harry's severe jawline, and dove back into the kiss with renewed fury.

 

Maybe he _was_ mad. Maybe he was out of his fucking mind.

 

He really didn't care.

 

-

 

"Just spoke with my mum," Louis said loudly.

 

Harry came in from the next room, his features delighted and his hair sopping wet from a recent shower. "Oh yeah? And?"

 

" _And_ ," Louis tried to suppress a grin, but it stole his lips and curled them upwards without his consent, "she wants us to come up for a visit. See the girls and all that." He ducked his head and tried to appear busy with a stack of bills. "She says they've been asking for me."

 

Harry tucked him into a bear hug from behind. He smelled heavenly, all vanilla spice and expensive cologne. The cross hanging around his throat tickled the delicate skin at the base of Louis's neck. He giggled, and angled his head for a quick, close-mouthed kiss.

 

"It'll be a road trip, then?" Harry asked in his ear. "We _are_ going, aren't we?"

 

Louis nodded. "Yeah, I think we are."

 

Harry released him. "Brilliant. I'll pack us bags. We can leave tonight!"

 

"I'm not sure she meant for us to head out immediately," Louis laughed, trying and failing to recapture Harry's long frame in his arms. "We should probably bang out an official schedule before we do any actual packing."

 

Harry lifted an elegant brow. "You say 'we' like you'll be taking part in this packing."

 

"I meant _you_. Obviously."

 

"Obviously."

 

"H," Louis said. Harry had stolen from the room at an alarming pace. "H?" He tried again, louder. "You better not be packing!"

 

A head poked in through the doorway. "'M not," he said cheerfully. "Well, not yet actually. I'm calling Liam."

 

Louis, bewildered, asked, "What the bloody hell for?"

 

"To inform him that his employee will be out of the office for the next few days," Harry announced with a nonchalant little shrug. "Would you prefer I tell him you have Ebola or syphilis?" In Louis's silence, he contemplated this. "I suppose it might just be easiest to tell the truth, but where's the fun in that?"

 

"Where indeed," Louis said faintly. He sighed, conceding to Harry's will. "Does syphilis even constitute a sick day?"

 

 

Harry tipped his head back and released a deep throaty laugh that spread warmth through Louis's chest, and made his heart flutter. “Does it matter?”

 

Louis considered. “I suppose not.”

 

"This, darling," Harry announced, reeling Louis in for a peppering of wet, sloppy kisses, "is one of about three billion reasons that I love you." He ruffled Louis's already sleep-mangled hair. "Get dressed. Wear that blue jumper of yours. It makes your eyes sparkle."

 

Louis snorted and mock saluted him. "Your wish," he chuckled. "My command."

 

Harry danced back into the bedroom, singing intentionally off-key. Louis heard the beginnings of what would most likely be a very strange conversation with Liam. He shook his head, and decided to finish sorting through the mail later. Right now, he wanted to dance with Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you endlessly for reading !! xx.


	3. The Fear Has Gripped Me, But Here I Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re alive, Louis,” Harry reminded him. “Live.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favorite section. Please enjoy. xx.

_“There’s an old voice in my head, that’s holding me back.”_

**_-Little Talks, Of Monsters & Men_ **

****

"You're a hard man to track down," Anne Twist said. She slid dark sunglasses from their perch upon the bridge of her nose, and slipped them into her pocket. "You haven't been taking my calls. I've been worried, Louis."

 

Louis coughed for something to do. He stuffed both hands into the front pockets of his joggers, and cast his eyes to the floor. "I'm...sorry about that."

 

Zayn had vanished quite mysteriously from his own living room at the first knock. Louis should've known this was an ambush. The stupid bastard just couldn't let anything go without first sticking his nose into it.

 

He stepped aside, admitting Anne into the entryway. She flicked a long piece of dark hair away from her face, and rummaged through a deep red purse. She pulled forth a stack of papers clipped neatly together, and passed it to Louis without a word.

 

Louis accepted the papers, and read the cover page. His brow furrowed in deep confusion. "What is this?" His stomach turned over uneasily.

 

Anne clasped her hands together and set her mouth into a firm line. " _That_ is a collection of legal documents, archiving a complete list of properties, inheritances, and other miscellaneous items awarded to you by my lawyers upon the death of my son."

 

"I," Louis staggered backwards. His back hit the corner of a wall. Pain exploded in one shoulder. The documents burned his skin and he nearly dropped them. He looked up, dazed, and tried again. " _Awarded_ to me?"

 

"Yes," Anne returned coolly. "As I'm sure you're aware, my son had no will, as his death," she paused, and took a breath, "was entirely unexpected. We had to be a touch... _creative_ with the legal proceedings." She tapped the stack of papers with her index finger. "My son, my Harry, he would've wanted you to have these things." She turned away.

 

Louis froze. "What things?" He whispered.

 

Anne glanced over her shoulder, and refaced Louis. Her eyes were masked with a kind of profound pain that Louis recognized all too well. He averted his gaze quickly.

 

"The flat you've been inhabiting for the past number of years, to start," Anne said after a brief moment. "It's yours. I assume you want it?"

 

"Yes," Louis said on instinct. "Yes, of course." He swallowed painfully. "I want it. I want to stay."

 

Anne nodded. "It's your home," she said quietly. "I'd never make you leave it."

 

Louis took slow, deep breaths. He lowered himself carefully onto the arm of Zayn's couch. Harry's flat was _his_. Legally. Bindingly. It was a strange, numbing feeling, like Louis'd lost yet another piece of him.

 

"And then of course," Anne continued, "there is the matter of my son's inheritance. Fifty- thousand pounds will be transferred to you as soon as the documents are finalized."

 

" _Fifty thou_ -" Louis pressed a hand to his mouth to withhold a dramatic little gasp from escaping. He felt liquid begin to steadily pool in his eyes. "You can't be serious."

 

"I assure you, I am incredibly serious."

 

Louis dug his fingernails into the fabric of his joggers, pressing hard enough that they bit into skin. He met Anne's gaze through a haze of tears and a sensation of fierce, rising fury in his chest. "I don't want it. Give it to Gemma."

 

"Gemma has an inheritance of her own. She doesn't need Harry's money."

 

" _I_ don't need Harry's money!"

 

Anne hesitated, then sat beside him. She placed a warm, tentative hand on his shoulder. "I hear you quit your job a year ago. I imagine affording rent has become a challenging matter."

 

Louis stared. "I'm making ends meet. _Without_ your charity."

 

"I know that you're doing your best," Anne said gently, unaffected by his increasingly harsh tone. "I understand why you wanted everything to just _stop_. Truly, Louis. I know what you are feeling. He was my _child_. I know what you are feeling, and I can help you. Can't you understand why I want you to have this money?"

 

Louis grasped at his spilling rage, a part of him aware that it wasn't actually aimed at Anne. "I don't want it," he repeated, markedly softer. "Please. It's too much."

 

"He would've wanted you taken care of."

 

"Maybe, but he's not here." Not really, anyway.

 

Anne sighed deeply. "Louis, darling, _I_ want you taken care of."

 

He swallowed. "And while I _appreciate_ the sentiment-"

 

"He told me."

 

The blood in Louis's veins turned to solid ice. He felt his mouth fall open without his consent. Robotically, he said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

 

"That night. After you fell asleep, he called me."

 

Louis's eyes squeezed shut. His fingers had curled into painfully tight fists. _She knows_ , his mind whispered, cold like ice. _She knows, she knows, she knows._

 

 _Shut the_ fuck _up_ , he told it.

 

"I," he faltered, clueless at how to proceed. When he felt Anne's arm snake around his shoulders, he quickly shrugged her off. "Please. I _can't_."

 

Anne immediately returned the arm to her side. He felt the pressure lift, then after a moment, he heard her stand. The new distance between them allowed Louis to reopen his eyes. Anne stared down at him, crippling despair flashing in her eyes.

 

"I'll go," she said, and began to re-belt her trench coat. Her fingers halted in their movements.

 

"I'm...very sorry that you lost him. The world is a much darker place without him in it. I know that all too well."

 

Louis leaned back into the couch cushions for support. "You lost him, too."

 

Waves of grief, black and churning like a storm, passed through Anne's eyes. "I did," she agreed quietly. "Keep in touch, honey, alright? Take my calls. I've missed you terribly these past months. And I don't want to have to miss you, too."

 

Zayn found Louis alone, crying, some time later.

 

-

 

"This was a bad idea, wasn't it? This was a really fucking bad idea."

 

Without turning to him, Harry laced their fingers together. "This was a fantastic idea. One that I fully endorsed, and still do. Deep breaths. You can do this. I wouldn't _let_ you if I didn't think so."

 

Louis looked at him skeptically, narrowing his eyes. "You wouldn't?"

 

"Don't you trust me?"

 

"Implicitly," Louis returned immediately. At Harry's pointed look, he rolled his eyes and raised a fist to rap lightly against the cheerfully-red front door.

 

The door swung wide open after a second knock, and Louis was suddenly overwhelmed by an armful of girls. He chuckled, and tucked his twin sisters into his chest. "Hey, Daisy. Hey, Pheebs. 'S good to see you guys. Christ, look how big you two are!"

 

"You haven't come to see us in a long time," Daisy said accusingly. She unhooked her arms from around Louis's neck so that she could cross them over her chest. "You send for _Mum_ but never us."

 

Louis laughed, and leaned down to press a quick kiss into her crown. "I've asked Mum to come to dinner a _few times_ , you silly little girl. But now, I've come to see my baby sisters." He lowered himself so that their faces were on the same level. "Can you forgive your favorite big brother?"

 

"Stop abusing Louis," came a cheerful voice from the doorway. Louis spotted his eldest sister, Charlotte, leaning calmly against the archway. She greeted him with a brilliantly white smile. "Hey there, stranger. It's good to see you."

 

Louis extracted himself from Phoebe's embrace (for fifteen, she was fucking _strong_ ), and pulled Lottie in. He kissed the side of her face. "Missed you, Lotts. You're like a little adult now."

 

She laughed in his ear, pulled away, and twirled dramatically. "Twenty-one never looked so good." She hooked her arm through Louis's, pulling him towards the house. "C'mon in. Fizzy and Mum are waiting in the kitchen."

 

Louis remembered Harry then, and turned sharply. "H?" He called softly.

 

He found Harry easily. He was engaged in a rather terrifying-looking staring contest with Phoebe and Daisy. His eyes flickered to Louis's face when he heard his nickname. "I'm right here," he soothed, knowing immediately the right way to comfort his frazzled boyfriend.

 

Lottie, noticing the stranger on her porch for the first time, paused. She gave him a slow, lethargic once-over. "Louis," she said coyly. "Who's your friend?"

 

Harry raised a dramatic eyebrow, but said nothing.

 

Louis swallowed. "He's, uh...Mum didn't mention my, uh, Harry?"

 

Lottie smiled like the devil, and extended an arm towards Harry, retaining her iron-grip on Louis's arm. "She did _not_. Hi. Harry, is it? I'm Louis's favorite sister, Charlotte. _Great_ to make your acquaintance."

 

Harry shook her hand enthusiastically. "Great to make yours. You're spoken quite highly of."

 

Lottie shot Louis a look that was all fox. " _Charming_ one, isn't he? Come on inside, Harry. I can't wait to hear more about you."

 

She turned and began half-dragging Louis inside. Behind her back, Louis mouthed a quick _I'm so sorry_ to an entirely at-ease Harry. The taller man merely smiled, shook his head, and winked.

 

-

 

"What's happened, Louis?" The voice was profoundly concerned, verging on desperation.

 

Louis's eyes flickered to Harry's face for the briefest of moments, before sliding quickly away again. In answer, he held aloft the mass of legal documents he'd been unable to let go of since he'd first received them.

 

Harry's brow creased in confusion. "What are those?"

 

"Everything of yours that's been transferred into my name."

 

This effectively stilled Harry into silence.

 

After what felt like a very long time, Harry said, "I was wondering when my mother would finally manage to track you down. She's only been trying for an entire year."

 

Louis eyes widened. He threw the stack of papers down on the coffee table, and shook his head. "I don't _want_ your fucking money, Harry! I don't want _any_ of it!"

 

"I know," Harry clasped his hands in front of himself and cast his gaze downwards. He hesitated. "What are you going to do?"

 

"I don't know."

 

"Are you going to leave?"

 

Louis growled low in his throat. He pitched the legal papers onto the couch as hard as he could. "I don't _know_ , Harry!"

 

"If you leave," Harry began in a small voice, before stopping. He cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders, and tried again. "If you go, I'm not sure what will happen to me. If you move out of this place. I'm not sure what happens next."

 

Louis's back hit a wall. He slid to the floor, pulling his knees into his chest. "I'm not leaving," he said at length. The anger had seeped from him, like poison sucked from a wound. "I can't leave. I wouldn't."

 

"I don't want you to be unhappy."

 

"I'm unhappy when I'm away from you."

 

It sounded pathetic. Even for Louis. He wished he could snatch the words out of the air, and shove them far enough back down his throats that he could taste blood. Harry appeared to be going through a similar experience. His face twisted like he'd bit into something unforgivingly sour.

 

"What are you going to do?" Harry asked again, the words whispered so quietly, Louis began to think he was disappearing altogether.

 

His head throbbed. He'd had a headache for a year. It got so bad sometimes, that Louis lay awake at night imagining what his brain would look like if he took the time to pry apart his skull.

 

When he set his jaw, new pain flared up in his temple. He barely registered it. "I don't know."

 

-

 

Jay smiled, her head bowed in concentration over a mountain of dishes in the too-small sink. She handed Louis a freshly scrubbed plate to dry. "It's nice. Having you home. The girls have all missed you so much."

 

Louis rubbed small, uniform circles into the white porcelain with the same checkered towel that had been folded beside the faucet since he was a little boy. "I haven't exactly been fair to them. They didn't deserve to be iced out like that."

 

Noticing her son's fallen face, Jay nudged him lightly with her shoulder. There were suds in her hair and strands plastered to various parts of her face, but her eyes were bright in a way that Louis hadn't seen them in a long time.

 

"They've already forgiven you," she told him in a stage-whisper. "I wouldn't fret so much about it." She chuckled to herself, then added, "Not to mention, I fear your sisters have taken to Harry enough to keep them distracted for the entire duration of your stay. They might not notice _you_ at all!"

 

"That's comforting, that is. Thank you mother."

 

"I suppose it's my fault, then? That your boyfriend is the single most charismatic man in all of England? That couldn't _possibly_ be a fault entirely your own." She rolled her eyes.

 

Louis snorted. "Charming little bastard." He returned another dried plate to its appropriate cupboard without even having to be asked. Years of living with Harry had left him impeccably well-trained.

 

"I'd keep an eye on your Harry, if I were you," Jay murmured teasingly. "Lottie may very well be in love with 'im."

 

"I'd say she's too good for him, like the good older brother that I am, but I'm not convinced there's actually _anyone_ too good for Harry."

 

Jay paused in her work for a moment to study her son. She pursed her lips. "Does one have to be inherently better than the other in a relationship?"

 

Louis considered. "No, I suppose not. It just usually works out that way."

 

"And you think it's you that's not good enough for him?"

 

"Hi, Mum. Have you actually met Harry? Of _course_ it's me."

 

She looked entirely unconvinced. "And what do you think Harry would have to say about all of this? Would he agree?"

 

The answer was obvious. _No_. But that was exactly the point! Didn't she see? That was what made him so _good_. So _Harry_. He radiated sunbeams of himself onto everyone. He handed out love and friendliness like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like holding out your heart to someone wasn't the most daunting idea ever conceived.

 

Louis knew she didn't understand. Half the time, _he_ struggled to understand.

 

"Harry probably wouldn't agree," he said, in the place of the ten billion explanations that sat heavily on his tongue.

 

He couldn't say things like, _sometimes my heart falls out of my chest and my lungs catch on fire because I love him too much_. Or _, I'm not sure I'd even want to live if he wasn't here_.

 

Because you couldn't say those things out loud. You weren't supposed to _feel_ those things. Love wasn't supposed to tear people apart. It wasn't supposed to make you feel completely raw, like a nerve left exposed.

 

Jay was watching him in silent contemplation. Out of nowhere, she wrapped a hand around his face, pulling him towards herself, and planted a long kiss to his cheekbone. When she pulled back, she smiled at him, and Louis noted that the expression was incomprehensibly sad.

 

"I never could love like that."

 

-

 

Louis considered his own reflection in the mirror. He brushed a hand over his rough cheek. "I need to shave."

 

"It's rugged," Harry commented from his seated position on the tile floor. He flashed a sultry smile up at Louis. "Manly."

 

"It looks like pubes."

 

"Manly, _rugged_ pubes."

 

Louis threw a hand towel at his head. "You're so full of shit." He reached for his razor. "It definitely needs to go." He paused a millisecond before the blade touched his skin. "My face looks so...hollow." He let the razor drop into the sink.

 

He watched Harry's expression through the mirror. The younger man sighed in a distinctly troubled manner. "You've lost a considerable amount of weight. You were bound to notice sometime."

 

Louis dipped a finger into the crater of his collarbones. He studied the way his ribcage strained against his pale skin. "Oh," he said quietly, like an exhale. Then, almost as an afterthought, "I've been eating."

 

"Not nearly enough."

 

He turned to Harry in disbelief. "How long have I looked like this?"

 

"A long time, Louis. Too long. Your friends are worried."

 

"Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

 

Harry wouldn't meet his eyes. "You never wanted to talk about...the situation. You change the subject every time I try."

 

Louis knew it was true, even if he'd rather not admit it out loud. He turned away and took up his razor once more. With shaky fingers, he began carefully removing the scruff from his face. With his back to Harry, and simultaneously, to reality, he felt calmer.

 

"I'll do better," he promised Harry. That felt too bold; too ambitious. Silently to himself, he vowed, I'll _try_.

 

He never heard Harry get up from the floor, but suddenly there were two arms fitted snugly around  his  waist,  and  a  stray  curl  tickling  the  exposed  skin  of  his  shoulder.  Louis leaned instinctively into the embrace.

 

"It's all going to be alright," Harry said, sounding almost confident enough to convince Louis. "You don't need to worry anymore."

 

Louis wasn't so sure. He was beginning to think that he wasn't worried _enough_.

 

-

 

"Harry," called Lottie from across the dinner table. His head popped up from hovering over his plate. He offered her one of his patented, charming smiles.

 

"Yes, Charlotte?"

 

It was their _thing_ , much as Louis loathed to admit his little sister had a _thing_ with his boyfriend. He swallowed the small annoyance. It was her name, after all.

 

Lottie slipped into a mischievous smile that Louis would recognize anywhere. He bristled for trouble.  She  tossed  her  hair  over  one  shoulder  and  asked,  "As  you're  probably  aware,  my brother's no spry, young thing anymore. He's getting quite old. Nearly twenty- _seven_."

 

Louis gritted his teeth. His fingers clenched and unclenched around his silverware. "I am not _old_ , Lottie. Twenty-six is not _old_."

 

She gave him a stern look. "Hush, now. I'm talking to Harry, not you."

 

Harry blinked adorably, looking decidedly unsure. He glanced at Louis, then back to Lottie. "I don't think he's...old. Not that much older than me, anyhow."

 

"Which brings me to my point." She folded her arms on the table, eyes positively gleaming. "I think it's high time my big brother think about settling down. He's practically an old maid. You wouldn't want him to be an old maid, would you Harry?"

 

Jay tried to hide a sudden fit of laughter behind a cough. She smiled into her water glass. "Easy, Charlotte. Stop pestering the boys."

 

"I'm not _pestering_ ," she objected, waving a hand. "I'm presenting a problem," she paused, trailing her eyes across the entire room for dramatic effect, " _and_ a solution. An unwed couple _living_ together? It's a proper scandal."

 

Louis narrowed his eyes at his sister. "This isn't the sixteen-hundreds. It's not _scandalous_ to live with your boyfriend."

 

She threw up her hands. "Okay fine! It's not a scandal! But that doesn't mean you can't just _get married_. Be a friend, Harry. I look lovely in traditional bridesmaid colors."

 

Harry's mouth opened and shut robotically. He chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip. "I think...I think that we'll let you know if and when you'll be requiring a...bridesmaid dress. Right, Louis?"

 

Louis was much too busy glaring daggers at his sister to respond. He definitely _wasn't_ freaking out. He was past his paralyzing fear of commitment...for the most part, anyway. Just hearing the word _marriage_ wasn't enough to send him into a tailspin. But it was irritating that Lottie was throwing herself into his personal life.

 

"Right," he said finally, shifting his gaze away from Lottie. He met his mother's eyes. Every last trace of humor was gone from her expression. Her mouth was pinched into a concerned line. Louis tried to telepathically express that he was fine.

 

"That'll do, Lottie," she said after a thick, uncomfortable beat of silence. Her tone remained light enough, but the underlying order was not to be missed. "Let's talk about something else, shall we?" She inclined her head at Félicité. "Fizzy here has got herself a new boyfriend. Brought him round for dinner last week."

 

With Lottie newly distracted by a fresh topic, Louis sagged in his chair, and reached for his wine glass. He felt a warm, comforting hand squeeze his thigh beneath the table, and felt the breath come easier in his chest. He shot a grateful look at Harry.

 

"Alright?" He asked under his breath.

 

Louis nodded quickly, and realized that he was telling the truth. He was alright.

 

-

 

Louis felt like he was being surveilled. Every time he chanced a glance around the room, though, his three friends made sure they were aggressively _not_ looking at him. Niall shoved his face into his beer, Liam returned his attention back to his video game, and Zayn reread the same page from the same novel he'd been pretending to read for an hour.

 

He wouldn't actually care that they were all trying to coyly watch him (and _failing_ , to be perfectly honest), if it weren't for the fact that he was in a piss poor mood and didn't have the patience to play victim for them today.

 

"You need another slice?" Liam asked, without taking his eyes off of the screen of Niall's telly. He paused the video game and reached for the Pizza Hut box. "You've barely eaten a thing."

 

Louis had pretended his way through half a slice before he completely lost interest. The half- eaten piece lay forgotten on the a paper plate on the coffee table. He wrinkled his nose in mild disgust at the thought of forcing another greasy morsel down his throat. "Not hungry." Not at all.

 

Zayn turned a page in his book. Apparently, he'd made some progress. He didn't bother looking up as he said, "Louis," in his practiced, exasperated-parent voice. "Don't be difficult, please."

 

"I'm not being difficult," Louis muttered in irritation. "I just don't have an appetite."

 

Niall finished off his third beer, and lined it up beside the two empty bottles. He stood, stretched his arms over his head, and scratched lazily at the skin above his naval. "I'm getting another. You want one, Louis?"

 

"He's not drinking," came Zayn's low, motherly voice again. "But I'll take one."

 

"I'm not a child, Zayn. If I want a beer, I'm perfectly entitled to one. 'S not like I'm an _alcoholic_ or something."

 

Zayn finally looked up. He narrowed his dark eyes. "Close enough."

 

Louis rolled his eyes back into his head. Zayn hadn't gone on an alcohol rampage through his flat since that last time a number of months ago, but he refused to let it go. If Louis so much as _glanced_ at a bottle of wine, he voiced his disapproval. Loudly.

 

Niall was frozen halfway between the fridge and the couch. He looked back and forth from Zayn to Louis. "So...how many beers am I grabbing?"

 

Louis set his jaw. "Three."

 

" _Two_."

 

" _Three_."

 

Liam logged out of his game and turned around in his seat. "Is it really such a big deal if he has one beer, Zayn? It's not exactly enough to get him pissed."

 

"It's the principle of the thing."

 

Louis threw his head back and rubbed at his eyes. "What principle? What thing? Haven't you noticed Zayn? I'm all whole and healed now! I'm doing just fine. I don't need to be constantly _minded_ anymore. Jesus fuck, why can't we just hang out like _mates_ for once? I'm not a fucking broken toy!"

 

The silence was deafening. All three boys had frozen in place.

 

"I'm not a project," Louis said, exponentially calmer now. "If you can't treat me like a human being, I'm not sure I can be around you anymore. It's driving me _mad_."

 

It was Niall who worked up the courage to speak first. To Louis's immense surprise, the blonde had broken out into a blinding smile. "That was good," he said, waving a hand around grandly. "Louis, mate, you sound like yourself. For the first time…in a _long_ time."

 

Louis stared in abject disbelief.

 

He had been anticipating violent denials. Yelling. Fighting. Someone storming out. He knew what to do with those. This? This was not something he had been expecting. He licked his lips, but found he was still unable to make a sound.

 

Niall turned in an uncertain half-circle, trailing his eyes over each of the boys in turn. Finally, he shrugged. "It's progress," he said in digression. Then, firmer, "It's something."

 

-

 

Harry giggled into the darkness from somewhere to Louis's left. "Your mum _does_ know we live together, right?"

 

"It might have occurred to her."

 

"So why the separate beds, then?"

 

Louis grinned. "There are two little girls living in this house, H. She wants us on our best behavior. And, maybe a little, she's fucking with us."

 

Harry snorted in vague amusement. "If she thinks twin beds are all it takes to keep me out of your pants, she's got another thing coming, I'm afraid." His twin squeaked and groaned as Harry slipped from beneath the duvet.

 

A hand felt out Louis's bicep in the darkness. From directly above him, a voice ordered, "Shove over."

 

Louis rolled his eyes, but obliged quickly and without protest. The mattress dipped beneath the weight of a second body. Two sets of toes, cold as ice, pressed into Louis's calves. Long fingers tangled themselves in his tee, tugging him closer.

 

"You're freezing," Louis complained in a whisper.

 

"I'm not used to sleeping alone. My body's not acclimated to it."

 

"You're such an infant," Louis muttered, though his heart stuttered in such a ridiculously cliché way, that he was forced to admit that he too had been struggling to fall asleep without Harry encased in his arms.

 

"Call me what you will," Harry said, entirely unperturbed by the teasing. "I do not want to spend a single night without you for the rest of my life, and I'm not ashamed to admit it."

 

At that, Louis fell quiet. There was a kind of heaviness to that statement that stood in stark contrast to the previous light-hearted bickering that had been _far_ easier to navigate.

 

Louis recognized it for what it was: a promise, and within it, a question.

 

Harry waited patiently for Louis's response, nosing into the dip of his collarbones lethargically and drawing detailed patterns along the side of his neck. Louis's entire body shivered at the contact.

 

"I don't want to be without you, either," he murmured carefully, certain that Harry could hear the violent beating of his heart and the blood rushing in his ears. "You know that."

 

"I do know," Harry agreed softly. "But it's still nice to hear you say it."

 

Louis kissed his forehead.

 

"It's strange," he whispered, dragging his gaze around the small room, carefully touching on each memory before moving on to the next, "being here with you. I feel like I've lived two completely separate lives, and now they're merging."

 

"Why two separate lives?"

 

Louis considered a moment, silently attempting to come up with a way to accurately express what he was trying to say. "I think it's me," he breathed. "I'm _so_ different, H. When I lived here...everything was always falling apart. We were poor, and my fucktwat of a father left, and Mum was messed up for a while, and the girls needed me to keep it together for _them_. It was a mess. And now, well, a lot of things have changed."

 

"For the better, yeah?"

 

"Yeah. Mum survived. The girls ended up okay. It could've been so much worse."

 

Harry nuzzled into his neck, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake. " _You_ ended up okay, too."

 

Louis nodded against the top of his head. "Most days I think so."

 

"Not all?"

 

"Most," Louis repeated. Then, "Whenever I'm with you."

 

"And when you're not?"

 

Louis inhaled. Exhaled. He repeated the motions twice more.

 

He didn't think that he'd ever really _talked_ about David. Not just with Harry, either. With anyone. Not even Zayn. Which was ridiculous. It had been years since Louis had last seen the man. He shouldn't _still_ have this kind of influence on Louis's life.

 

"Sometimes, when I'm alone, I forget."

 

"Forget what?"

 

"How safe you make me feel. How much sense it makes for me to love you. How happy I am."

 

Harry was quiet at that. For a paralyzing moment, Louis wondered if he had just made a monumental error in letting those particular thoughts escape his mind. But Harry's grip around his middle only tightened.

 

"What can I do? What will make it better?"

 

"You're doing everything already," Louis said quietly. "More than you probably even realize."

 

"I don't want you to _ever_ forget how loved you are, Louis. I can't let you."

 

"It isn't your fault," Louis assured him hurriedly. "It has nothing to do with you, to be perfectly honest. I just...I still go back sometimes, in my head."

 

"Back to David?"

 

In the dark, with Harry breathing evenly against his neck, the name seemed so much less scary than he'd been anticipating. The knowledge was liberating.

 

"Yeah. To David." His eyes fluttered shut. If he allowed his mind to wander enough, he could almost _feel_ liquor-laced breath against his face. He tried to focus on Harry's hands tight around his waist. It eased the weight crushing down upon his chest.

 

"You're safe now," Harry mouthed the words against the sensitive skin of his collarbone. "I'll always keep you safe, Louis."

 

Louis nodded. "I know that. Really, I do." He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, silently considering if he should share the next bit. After a long, heavy silence, he said, "Sometimes I want to kill him. Sometimes I dream about it."

 

Harry didn't miss a single beat. "I would help you." His tone is the blackest that Louis's ever heard, and it sends a chill racing down his spine. "Without a second thought."

 

"You would?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Why?"

 

"Would if help?"

 

Louis didn't answer right away. Would it? He'd had years to consider this, and still he couldn't quite make up his mind. "Sometimes I think it would. Might put an end to the nightmares, if I knew for sure he could never come back. Other times I wonder if it would just make me as big a monster as him."

 

"You're not a monster," Harry whispered. "No one would ever think that."

 

Louis repositioned himself, so that his head lay directly above Harry's heart. He listened to the calming, steady rhythm the way he always did when he needed to work up a little courage. He counted the beats until he reached sixty. "I love you," he said. "More than I ever loved him. So much, that it terrifies me."

 

"I love you, too. I don't even know how to...I don't think I can put into words how much I love you. It's beyond human comprehension."

 

"Are you ever scared? That it shouldn't feel this...intense?"

 

"No," Harry said with a kind of quiet confidence that Louis himself could never muster. "I'm not scared when I'm with you. This is how it's all supposed to happen. We're _supposed_ to be together, Louis. We have to be."

 

-

 

"Niall thinks I'm...better. Or something," Louis shrugged. "I don't really know what he meant." He watched Harry's back as the brunette danced around the kitchen, fixing Louis's dinner like an organized tornado. "What do you think of that?"

 

Harry paused briefly in his work, half-turning towards Louis. "I think Niall has always been quite perceptive."

 

"So you agree with him?"

 

He busied himself with the onion he was dicing, turning almost suspiciously away. After a long moment, he said, "Well, what do you think? Do you feel...better?"

 

Louis wasn't sure how to answer that. He knew that he'd been steadily losing weight for almost two years now. He knew that he'd been unemployed for approximately the same amount of time. He  knew  that  if  he  had  not  begrudgingly  allowed  Anne  to  continuously  deposit  Harry's inheritance into his savings account, he'd never manage to make rent.

 

He knew that since Harry's death, he'd been communicating almost exclusively with a memory.

 

"I feel like I want to visit your grave."

 

The knife in Harry's hand clattered to the floor. Louis, acting purely on instinct, reached to pick it up, and didn't notice until too late that he had wrapped his hand around the blade. He set it gently in the sink, and ran his bloodied palm beneath the cold tap water. It wasn't deep. He wouldn't need stitches.

 

Harry hadn't even reacted to the knife. He was frozen, eyes wide and on Louis. "You've never done that," he stated, as if it wasn't something Louis was already painfully aware of. "Not since the, uh, the funeral."

 

"Yeah, well." Louis snapped the spout off, and wrapped up his hand with a clean towel, wincing as it stung. "I don't really remember the funeral too well. And I figured...maybe it would help? Being with your uh...,”

 

"Physical body?" Harry offered when Louis couldn't form the words. "Because it'll what? Reaffirm that I'm dead? That I'm not really here?"

 

Louis watched as the blood seeped slowly and painstakingly through the cloth. It vaguely resembled the shape of the birthmark pressed into the meat of Harry's inner thigh. "I don't know what exactly I'm looking for," he admitted. "But I think I need to do this. It feels important."

 

Harry came back to himself, unfreezing in time to reach out and gently caress Louis's injured palm. He studied it for a moment, and then let it drop. "It might make things worse," he said, continuing the conversation with great difficulty. "Have you considered that?"

 

"I have."

 

"And you're going to do this anyway?"

 

Louis held out his undamaged hand to Harry, silently inviting him to take it. "You'll be with me?"

 

Harry wove his fingers through Louis's, and squeezed tightly. "Always."

 

-

 

Breath tickled Louis's face. He smiled without opening his eyes. "Morning, Sunshine."

 

Velvet soft lips danced lightly across his own, teasing more than anything. "Mm. Good morning. Sleep well?"

 

Louis grazed both hands over the sleep-warm skin of Harry's chest. He traced the sparrows with an index finger, taking particular care with the smaller of the two birds. When he had finished with that, Louis tangled both hands into Harry's curls. They were getting quite long, and he suspected that Harry was allowing them to grow out because he knew how much Louis loved gently tugging at them.

 

Harry was watching him with a strange expression, and Louis realized that he'd never answered the other boy's question. "Sorry, what did you ask?"

 

"I had asked if you slept well," Harry repeated helpfully. "But then you were distracted by my raw sexuality." He smirked rather pointedly.

 

"I thought we agreed that we hated Liam, and were never going to talk about that ever again."

 

"I think you're remembering that incorrectly. I made no such agreement. I will be bringing it up 'til the day we die, and then whatever comes after that."

 

Louis was silent for a long stretch. His fingers massaged deep circles into Harry's scalp. Harry eyed him curiously. "Tell me what you're thinking."

 

After another moment, Louis said, "I feel like this is the very top of the rollercoaster." He looked away from Harry. "I feel like the only place left to go, is down."

 

Beside him, Harry audibly caught his breath. "Don't say things like that."

 

Louis cut his eyes quickly back to Harry, and offered him a weak smile. "Never mind."

 

-

 

Louis was not going to be leaving this car.

 

He couldn't do this. He couldn't. He wouldn't. He was actually going to die.

 

God, _why_ had he thought this was a good idea? Why had Harry let him leave the house? Why hadn't he brought Zayn with him? He would've come in a heartbeat, no questions asked. Even after the big, stupid fight.

 

Over the past two years, Louis has become infamous for his poor decision making. It wasn't unheard of for him to make a bad call. But this? It definitely made the top ten.

 

He pressed his fingers even harder into the steering wheel and tried to catch his breath. He was _not_ going to have a panic attack inside of a cemetery.

 

"Don't be a baby," he hissed under his breath. "Just do it."

 

Louis took a breath, then began slowly unclenching his hands from around the steering wheel. He shifted his right foot away from the brake, fastened every last button on his heavy jean jacket, and gently gathered a bouquet of sunflowers into his arms.

 

The flowers were the warmest shade of yellow that Louis could find. Not a single petal was missing from the bunch. He'd even trimmed the stems until they were all of matching length. He thought Harry would approve.

 

With a growing sense of nausea creeping up his throat, Louis finally stepped out of the car. He clutched the bouquet to his chest, shut the car door behind himself, and faced the rows upon rows of headstones.

 

It struck him like a bucket of ice water thrown over his head. This grass had been watered by heartbroken tears. The grounds were littered with shattered futures, and final goodbyes. A blanket of suffering hung over the entire cemetery, suffocating everything still living.

 

Louis's chest heaved. A single teardrop splattered against one of the flowers. "H," he said softly. The air hummed all around him with an energy he couldn't possibly be imagining.

 

He closed his eyes, and when he reopened them, a familiar figure had appeared beneath a small alcove of trees. The figure danced two fingers across the top of the headstone closest to him, before looking up and into Louis's eyes.

 

Louis's legs moved without his direction, closing the last few meters between his car and the figure. He approached cautiously. "I wasn't sure if you'd be here."

 

Harry's eyes were lost in the sunflowers. "Are those for me? They're beautiful."

 

In a robotic motion, Louis laid the bouquet before Harry's headstone. "They're your favorite. Yellow, like the sun." _Like you. My sunshine._

 

He felt Harry's eyes on him, hot, probing, and asking silent questions that Louis still couldn't answer for himself. He kept his eyes planted firmly on the ground, apparently eternally avoiding confrontation.

 

He was such a coward. He'd _always_ been such a fucking coward.

 

"How do you feel?" Harry finally demanded, his low voice seeped in thinly-veiled anxiety.

 

Louis pressed a hand to the pulsating hole that had been ripped through his abdomen. "Empty."

 

He heard a long, pronounced sigh next to his ear. Harry entered Louis's space, trying to curb his view of the headstone. "Maybe this wasn't the best idea. Let's just go home, Louis. You look like you're about to pass out."

 

When he put a steadying arm around his waist, Louis jerked away like he'd been stung. Hurt flashed across Harry's face, but he let his hands drop to his sides without a word of protest. He looked desperate. "Tell me what to do. What can I do?"

 

"Just," Louis's vision was growing spotty, but he stoutly refused to fall, "give me a minute."

 

The headstone was simplistic. Devoid of color, knee-height, and cold as ice. Louis stared at it without blinking, silently willing away the gnawing fear. He traced each letter with his eyes, read and reread the two most important dates in Harry's life, and wondered desperately how an entire life could fit onto such a tiny stone.

 

"What day did we meet?" He asked suddenly, surprising even himself with the forwardness.

 

Harry didn't falter. "It was a Saturday. The twenty-eighth of September."

 

Louis nodded after each word. "I remember," he said. "You were magnetic. I couldn't believe that you wanted to talk to me, of all people."

 

"You're the only one," Harry said. "You've always been the only one." Louis felt light pressure against his wrist, and he opened his hand to allow Harry better access. "You're so beautiful, Lou. My beautiful boy. You took my breath away, and never gave it back."

 

Louis knew what that felt like.

 

He squeezed Harry's fingers to reassure himself that he was still there. "What is death like?"

 

For a very long time, Harry didn't answer. At length, he said, "It was fast. Painless. One moment I was here, and the next...I wasn't. It took me some time to comprehend what had happened to me. I thought I was just going mad."

 

And, Christ, Louis knew what _that_ felt like, too. He wished he didn't; wished that he couldn't even fathom it.

 

There was something else he wanted to know. "Are you...unhappy?"

 

Harry touched Louis's chin, tilting his face until their eyes were locked and lost on one another. "I was lonely. But then I found my way back to you. The only place I ever wanted to be, was by your side."

 

Louis hid his face in the center of Harry's chest, allowing the taller boy to hold him upright. Wound tightly together, so much so that they almost blended into one identity, they sunk to the grassy floor, kneeling directly above the place where Harry's body had been laid to rest.

 

Still clutching onto Harry, Louis pressed his fingers into the earth. He could feel the dirt beneath his fingernails, and a cold shiver raced down his spine. There was a part of him that wanted to lie down with Harry, and stay here forever.

 

God, he was just so tired.

 

-

 

The car ride home from Doncaster was a quiet one. Both Louis and Harry were exhausted, having spent every waking moment throwing themselves into family time. Louis'd had no desire to miss out on anything else.

 

It  was  Harry's  turn  to  drive,  and  Louis  was  caught  pleasantly  between  consciousness  and unconsciousness. He turned a sleepy smile on Harry, who returned the expression easily. Louis touched the tips of his fingers to Harry's arm.

 

"Been meaning to thank you," he mumbled, battling to keep his eyes open.

 

"For what?"

 

"All of it. Me 'n Jay. If it weren't for you...," he trailed off, grasping blindly for the right words, and coming up empty handed. He shook his head in frustration, and forged on. "Thank you for making me try. I'd never be here if not for you."

 

When Harry looked away from the road, he appeared a little breathless. His eyes were blown wide open in surprise, and his jaw had slackened. When the car nearly swerved off the road, he came back to himself, refocusing his attention on driving.

 

"You can't give me all that credit," he said, very quietly, after a long moment. "At some point, you have to start giving _yourself_ some."

 

Louis's eyes were shut now. His breathing had evened out, and he knew if allowed himself to, he'd fall over the precipice and be deeply asleep. "I do," he mumbled with a Herculean effort.  He sighed, letting his head fall against the cool glass of the car window. "Because of you."

 

-

 

Louis wasn't sure how much time had passed. All he knew was that the sky above him was oil black, and Harry had vanished.

 

He shakily picked himself up from the yellowing grass growing like a weed above Harry's remains. It took him a few moments to find his phone, which had slipped from the front pocket of his dark jeans at some point. He pressed his finger to the home button, and grimaced at the time glowing mockingly up at him.

 

He had nine missed calls, and thirty-six unread text messages. Funny, he'd never heard it ring.

 

Louis read the most recent message, courtesy of Zayn.

 

**If I don't hear from you in the next hour, I'm reporting you missing.**

 

He could sense the growing hysteria behind his friend's words. He clicked on Zayn's contact, and held the phone to his ear. After only one ring, the call connected.

 

"Louis?" A voice breathed into the receiver. "Louis, is that you? Are you okay? Fucking _hell_ , I am going to kill you if you're not already dead."

 

"It's me." Then, after a short pause, "I'm alive." _Sort of._

 

Zayn released a long breath. Then, the swearing started. After he had completed an impressive slew of profanity, he said, " _Where_ the _fuck_ have you been? I've got half of London out looking for you!"

 

Louis knew his only option was the truth. "I was at Harry's grave. I lost track of time." He sounded robotic, even to his own ears. "I didn't...think. I'm sorry I made you worry."

 

"You were at Harry's grave?"

 

There was something dangerous lurking beneath the strained tenor of Zayn's voice.

 

"Yes."

 

"Why? Are you still there?" Louis could practically hear him scrambling for his keys through the phone. "Don't move. I'm coming to pick you up. I can be there in ten if there isn't any traffic."

 

"Don't bother. I drove myself. I'll just head back home now."

 

Louis had been anticipating the protest before the words even left his mouth. Immediately, Zayn said, "No, Louis. I am coming to get you. And then we're going back to _my_ place. I've had enough of this. I don't want to be _petrified_ every second that you're out of my sight!"

 

"I'm okay," Louis tried, pleading now. "Really, Zayn. I...I _needed_ to come here today. It was important. And, yeah, I should've kept better track of time, or noticed when my phone started ringing. But I'm okay. I think this was good for me."

 

Louis listened to the sound of Zayn's heavy breathing. After ten, deep inhales and exhales, he was beginning to sound markedly calmer. "Okay," he said. "This is what's going to happen, and please, Louis, try not to be difficult."

 

Louis didn't bother promising; he didn't know how to be anything _except_ difficult.

 

Zayn forged ahead. "You are going to drive yourself home, where I will be waiting for you with dinner. Then," he paused, like he needed to work himself up for the next part, "we are going to _talk_ about this. Seriously, Lou. Really talk."

 

Louis touched the tips of his fingers to Harry's headstone. He wasn't going to win this one. And maybe Zayn was even _right_ about this.

 

"Alright."

 

-

 

Harry bounced across the living room, landing gracefully in the open seat beside Louis. He held a bulging parcel between two hands. "Open mine next!" He demanded.

 

Louis accepted the gift after a dramatic eye roll, and shook it experimentally. "It doesn't _sound_ like a new car," he teased, shamelessly.

 

Anne snorted from her position on the floor. "A new car? If anyone here should get a new car as a Christmas present, it should certainly be me."

 

Gemma was quick to narrow her eyes. She adjusted the elf hat perched atop her bleached blond head. "How do you figure?"

 

Anne looked rather affronted by the inquiry. "I'm the boy's _mother_ , aren't I? I gave him life! The _least_ he could do is buy me a car."

 

Harry, ever the peacekeeper, ended the argument before it could begin. "It's not a new car, ladies. And if I were just handing them out, you'd all receive one. Satisfied? Can Louis open his present now?"

 

"Whatever he gets now is going to be a severe disappointment," Charlotte observed, twisting her own silvery locks between two fingers. "You may as well just give it to _me_ , Louis. I'll be able to appreciate it more."

 

From the general direction of the kitchen, Jay called, "Harry, honey? I think we may have run out of tea. Do you have another box somewhere?" Her face appeared in the doorway. In her hand, she clasped an empty kettle.

 

Harry sighed. He pressed a quick kiss to the edge of Louis's jaw. "Go on and open your gift, love. I'll just be a second." He stood and followed Jay back into the kitchen.

 

Louis took a moment to admire the wrapping. Harry had folded the rectangular parcel in a heavy, silver paper, topped by a magnificent bow. Every corner was taped with the kind of precision that could only be derived from years of disciplined practice. He smiled fondly, before edging a careful finger into the fold, and ripping clean through the paper.

 

Louis was greeted with a nondescript box. He lifted the lid with trembling hands. Nestled amongst the white tissue paper, was a black, leather scrapbook. Two glittering, gold letters adorned the front cover. H + L.

 

Louis didn't notice Harry slipping back into the room, his eyes lost on the book. He traced the raised letters carefully.

 

"Open it," Harry instructed softly, alerting Louis to his presence. The two met eyes, and Harry smiled that soft little smile of his. "The inside is much better than the outside, in my humble opinion."

 

Awestruck, Louis opened the front cover. It took him a moment to register that he was looking at a picture of himself. He fingered the corner, trying to place it. Finally, he gave up. "When was this taken?"

 

All around them, their family members were crawling over one another to get a look at the picture. Louis could only see Harry.

 

"The night we met," Harry told him.

 

"You," Louis faltered, his eyes darting back and forth from Harry's face to the picture. He recognized the setting now. If he concentrated hard enough, Louis could still feel the hot lights pulsing down on him, and hear the ear-splitting music reverberating throughout his entire body. "You took my picture that day?"

 

"I couldn't help myself," Harry admitted, his cheeks flushing a pretty pink color. "You were like living artwork. A human masterpiece."

 

Louis wasn't sure about _masterpiece_ , but it was easily the best photograph that had ever been taken of him. In the image, Louis's cheek rested in his hand, his entire body twisted to face the hidden camera. He wasn't smiling, but his blue eyes were warm and bright with alcohol. The multicolored lights gave the photo a dreamy feel.

 

"It's...wow, Harry. You’re so talented," Louis said after a long moment. When he looked back to Harry, he could feel moisture pooling in his eyes. "All these years, and I didn't even know you were a _brilliant_ photographer."

 

Harry shook his head gently. "I'm no photographer. Not really. I only ever took pictures of one thing."

 

Louis felt hot all over. He turned to the second page. A teardrop splattered onto the page. "When did you take this?" He whispered the question.

 

"Our first date. When I was returning from the bathroom, I managed to snap a quick shot."

 

Louis kept flipping. His vision blurred more and more, until he could no longer make out he pictures on the pages. It was all there. Louis and Harry's entire history. The big moments, and even the small, insignificant ones that were lost in his memories. Every last moment had been captured forever between the pages of this scrapbook.

 

He shut the book, completely overwhelmed by the gift. He dropped his face into his hands and cried unabashedly. After a minute, he felt strong arms come around him, holding him together. Lips brushed against the top of his head.

 

"Thank you," Louis sobbed into his palms, unsure of what else to say.

 

Harry chuckled musically in his ear. "You're very welcome, Louis. Now, you'll never forget."

 

Louis made a half-hearted effort to scrub the tears from his cheeks, and looked up quickly. "I'll never forget what?"

 

Harry smiled softly. "That you're the most beautiful thing in the world." He paused, then, "That you're my favorite person."

 

-

 

Zayn hadn't said a word in the last ten minutes. After he'd let himself in, made them both tea, and finally settled in on the couch, he was still maintaining an uncomfortable silence.

 

Louis tea had gone cold in his hands. He was wrapped up in one of Harry's old sweatshirts, drowning in the forest green fabric. He couldn't decide if he preferred the silence to the fighting.

 

Louis could handle the fighting. It was familiar territory, and he navigated it well. He was an infamous hothead. His first reaction to most things was a hot flash of anger.

 

The silence was different. So quiet, that it was fucking loud.

 

Harry sat beside Louis, though Zayn didn't know that. His eyes bored holes into the side of Louis's head. "You're going to have to say something sometime."

 

Louis ignored him.

 

"Louis," Harry tried again, verging on exasperated. " _Talk_ to him. Please, Louis."

 

"I know this is uncomfortable," Zayn said, boldly breaking the silence first. He shifted in his seat, crossed one leg over the other, then quickly uncrossed it. "It is for me, too. But we just have to rip the bandaid off. Get on with it, and all that. Alright?"

 

Louis pressed his nose into the collar of Harry's sweatshirt, and inhaled deeply. The scent was fading from the fabric (even after years of not washing it), but traces of Harry's vanilla-scented shampoo remained. Reinvigorated, Louis nodded his head. "Alright."

 

Feint surprise flitted across Zayn's dark features. Apparently, he hadn't expected Louis to give in so easily. "I suppose I should probably ask why you decided to visit the cemetery today."

 

That one was easy enough. "I wanted to be with Harry."

 

Zayn's expression became unreadable. "You wanted to be with...his body?" It sounded almost like a correction.

 

Louis knew he had to be careful. "Yes," he said slowly. It was half true, anyway. Not a complete lie.

 

"Why today?"

 

"I guess I just finally thought that I'd be able to do it. I finally felt strong enough."

 

Zayn rocked slightly backwards, as if Louis had reached out and shoved him. "That's...that's really something, Louis. I didn't know you were feeling this way, otherwise I would've offered to come with you."

 

Louis shook his head. "I know you would have, which is why I didn't tell anyone. I needed to do this alone."

 

"And how do you feel now?"

 

Harry had asked him the same question earlier, at the cemetery. "I survived," he told Zayn, "and that's more than I could say if I'd gone to his grave a year ago."

 

Zayn frowned. "That's not really what I asked."

 

Louis blew out a frustrated breath. "I'm not sure what you're hoping to hear, Zayn. It was fucking _awful_ , alright? I laid down and wished that I was dead, too. But guess what? I'm still here! I _survived_. At the end of the day, isn't _that_ what matters?"

 

"I just can't watch you suffer anymore, Louis," the voice was barely a whisper. "Looking into your eyes these past few years keeps me up at night. I have nightmares where I find you dead in a bathtub filled with blood." When he looked up, his eyes were red and watery. "It _matters_ , Lou, because _you_ matter. More than, Christ, more than anything."

 

Louis's brain numbed. He couldn't think of a single word to say in response. Zayn was crying openly now, a sight that Louis had only seen a handful of times in their entire friendship. His chest heaved violently, and rivers of salty tears streamed down his cheeks.

 

Louis reached out with both arms. He grabbed a firm hold of both of Zayn's hands, and squeezed them. "I never meant for any of you to worry so much," he said, feeling immeasurably guilty. "I never meant to become such a burden." He felt liquid pool in the corners of his eyes. "I...I just can't _breathe_ sometimes, I miss him so much. I thought maybe it would go away with time, but it's always there."

 

"I know, Louis," Zayn said in a choked voice. "I miss him, too. Every single day. Sometimes, I can't even believe that I live in a world without him. I don't think that part's supposed to go away."

 

Harry had shifted closer now, his pale green eyes trained sadly on Zayn.

 

"This can't be it for you," Zayn continued. "This isn't your story, Louis. This one tragedy doesn't define your entire life; not if you don't let it. We were left behind by someone we love, but we have to keep on living. It's what Harry would have wanted."

 

"He's right," Harry confirmed softly. "It is what I want."

 

"I know," Louis told them both. "I'll do better. I'll try harder."

 

He took a breath, then another.

 

He meant it this time.

 

-

 

"Ah, there he is," commented Niall in a cheerful voice. He smiled broadly as Louis approached the table. "The man of the hour, lads! Have a seat, you handsome devil. Have a pint."

 

Louis greeted the group of four gathered there with a pleasant smile. He slid into the chair beside Harry, and kissed him hello. Niall pressed a beer into his hands when he finally managed to tear himself away.

 

"A toast," the blonde declared, raising his glass high above his head, "to Louis Tomlinson, new Head of the Editorial Department at Payne Publishing!"

 

Four voices chorused back, "To Louis!"

 

Harry whispered the words directly into his ear, smooth like velvet. "Congratulations, love," he murmured,  taking  a  moment  to  brush  his  teeth  gently  against  Louis's  earlobe.  "You're just...endlessly amazing. Makes me so fucking proud." He pulled back so Louis could see his smile. "I love you."

 

Louis stroked a hand down the back of Harry's head, and gripped him by the neck. He closed the distance quickly, easily slotting their lips together and licking giddily in Harry's warm mouth. Every thought in his head turned to static as he felt Harry lace his fingers through Louis's hair and firmly kiss him back.

 

Someone pointedly cleared their throat.

 

Louis was not even faintly embarrassed. He felt good; possibly better than he ever had. He was _on top_ of the fucking _world_.

 

Beside him, Harry was equally unaffected. They disentangled languidly, though Harry maintained an arm wrapped tightly around Louis's shoulders. "Fair warning," he began cheerfully. "Louis and I are probably going to make out a lot tonight. We're disgustingly in love."

 

Zayn snorted into his glass. "I'll fucking drink to that."

 

Niall rolled his eyes at him. "Oh stop it. You're just dead jealous, and everyone knows it. Fuck, I mean, _I'm_ jealous." He gestured wildly at the couple. " _Look_ at them, and tell me that's not the ultimate goal."

 

"Ni, take the night off from captaining the _SS Larry Stylinson_ ," Liam interjected with a laugh, clapping Niall roughly on the shoulder.

 

Louis blinked. "The _what_?"

 

Naturally, everyone ignored him.

 

Niall slammed his palm onto the tabletop, and stared very seriously across the table at Liam. He placed a dramatic hand over his heart. "I will go down with this ship."

 

"What _ship_?" Louis shrieked. "There's a ship?" Harry petted the fine hairs at the base of his neck to soothe him.

 

Zayn dropped his face into his hands, and began rubbing tiny circles into his temples. "Oh, dear lord, please don't get him started on this shit. We'll never hear the end of it. I must've done something truly horrid in a former life to end up in this _hell dimension_."

 

Big, blue eyes gazed hurtfully back at Zayn. "You don't think they're cute?"

 

"I'm not denying they make a nice couple. I'm just saying that I don't have _nearly_ as much interest as you do in finding their sex tape." He smiled wickedly. " _Some_ interest, mind you, just not as much."

 

Louis nearly leapt on the table, having officially reached the end of his patience, but Harry's grip on him was like iron. " _Sex tape?_ Zayn, what the _f_ \--"

 

"Easy, honey," Harry said in a calm sort of way. He looked mildly amused. "What's all this talk of ships and sex tapes?"

 

Liam held up a hand, signaling that he would be fielding that one. He laced his fingers together on top of the table. "Well, you see, Niall has taken it upon himself to be the number one fan of your relationship with Louis. He's mashed your names together and created what he likes to call a 'ship' name. He's very invested in all of it."

 

Niall looked, oddly, proud. He belched. "Almost made us all t-shirts." He brightened. "I still can! Guess that's my Christmas shopping sorted."

 

"I'll take a large," Harry said easily.

 

Louis reached for his beer, pouting rather obviously. "You're all freaks, the lot of you." He sighed, melodramatic as always, and said, "I suppose this friendship was always destined to come to an end sometime. Why not now?"

 

"Oh, they're only teasing, honey," Harry reminded him gently. "Relax, Lou. This is your night."

 

Niall nodded enthusiastically. "We tease, because we _care_ , Louis." He grinned.

 

"Really," Liam began in his mother-hen voice, "we're just proud of you. Extremely proud."

 

And,  alright,  Louis  was  blushing  now,  hiding  his  burning  cheeks  behind  one  of  Harry's shoulders. "Oh, stop it, you guys," he mumbled. "It's not that big a deal."

 

"It _is_ ," Zayn insisted. "So shut up, and let us _celebrate_ you the way you bloody deserve."

 

-

 

Louis shuddered violently. The weak morning sun was cold against the bare skin of his arms. What had happened to his coat? At what point during the night had he lost it?

 

He couldn't remember.

 

A woman in a vibrantly red jacket came clambering down the front steps of Louis's building. She brushed past him without so much of a glance, something Louis was endlessly grateful for.

 

He could picture what he looked like. His skin was turning faintly blue from the cold, his eyes were bloodshot and void, his hair was tangled and greasy from several days without a good washing. He looked down at his feet, and realized with little interest that he only had one shoe.

 

God, his head fucking _hurt_. It was being split in two by a particularly vengeful migraine.

 

At some point, he would have to pick himself up and head upstairs to the flat. Through the glass doors, Louis knew the doorman was watching him and mentally debating whether or not to ring the police.

 

Up to the flat, or a jail cell? Louis wondered if it was a bad sign that he couldn't decide which would be worse.

 

Behind him, the door opened. "Excuse me sir," came a timid voice. Louis half-turned. It was the doorman, probably come to kick him off the steps. "We don't really allow loitering outside our building. If you don't mind...," he trailed off, hoping Louis'd get the message and fuck off.

 

"I live here," he said robotically.

 

The doorman blanched. "Oh," he said in obvious surprise. He shifted in discomfort, looking like he would take any excuse to abandon this conversation. "My mistake, sir. Shall I escort you inside, then?"

 

Go or stay? Stay or go? Louis wished he had a coin to flip. Wished he were dead, then felt guilty for even thinking it.

 

In his indecision, the doorman continued, "It's still rather cold out here, sir. Please, come inside."

 

And, just like that, the decision was made for him. Louis got shakily to his feet, his head still pounding in protest. If the doorman noticed he was missing a shoe, he didn't say anything.

 

Time sped up. The lift ride up to Louis's floor took seconds, and before he'd even realized it, he had reached his own door. The second his hand touched the doorknob, he froze. He fought down the urge to turn and run.

 

He had to stay. He had to face Harry.

 

He entered quietly, kicking off his single shoe and depositing his keys into their designated bowl. Harry was nowhere to be seen.

 

"Hello?" Louis called hesitantly out. "H?"

 

The voice came from behind Louis. "You were out all night," Harry said, and Louis spun around to find the source.

 

Harry smiled weakly when they met eyes. He had pulled his long hair back into a sloppy bun, and looked comfortable in an oversized, grey hoodie.

 

"Yeah," Louis admitted. "Yeah, I...," he didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to do this. He looked desperately to Harry for help.

 

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, sounding genuinely concerned. "I was worried when you never came home."

 

Louis felt treacherous. Bile rose in his throat.

 

He swallowed. His airway had begun to feel tight and hot, and his eyesight was becoming more and more blurred. "I went to a bar," he whispered. "I wanted to try to be normal for one night...like Zayn suggested."

 

Harry nodded carefully. "Okay."

 

And Louis knew he could've stopped there, and they would've dropped the subject entirely and moved on. But he couldn't lie to Harry. The guilt twisted like a hot knife in his chest. The words bubbled up, ready to spill out of his mouth at any second.

 

"I got drunk," Louis said. He could feel himself crying now, taking shuddery breaths and blinking back tears. "God, I got really, really drunk, H. I didn't mean to. That was never the...plan."

 

Harry held his arms out like he was hoping Louis would fall into them. "It's alright," he said soothingly. "It's okay, baby. Come here. You're okay. It happens, sweetheart."

 

Louis considered allowing himself to be comforted. The knife sunk in deeper, and Louis suddenly knew he couldn't. When he stepped farther away from Harry, the other boy's arms dropped limply back to his sides. He looked wounded. "Louis?"

 

"I went home with someone," Louis said. The words felt slimy and poisonous on his tongue. He clutched an arm to his stomach, suddenly nauseated. "I slept with someone." The word _else_ hung silently in the space between them.

 

For a moment, Harry's entire face went blank in shock. He snapped out of it quickly. "Oh," he said reflexively. "Oh, okay."

 

Louis could hardly see for the tears streaming down his face. Chest heaving with the force of it, Louis gulped desperately for oxygen. He couldn't bear to look at Harry anymore.

 

Hands gently smoothed Louis's fringe out of his eyes. "Louis," Harry murmured. "Louis, please look at me. Please?"

 

Louis defiantly shook his head.

 

Harry sighed. "I'm not mad. I would never be mad at you. I love you so much, Lou. Please look at me?" He stroked the tear tracks from Louis's cheeks.

 

Louis swallowed. He looked up through wet eyelashes, and tried not to lose it. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

 

"You don't have anything to apologize for," Harry said with a shake of his head. "You did nothing wrong, honey. Do you believe me?"

 

Any last shred of composure that Louis was pretending to maintain vanished. He sobbed, and dropped to the floor. "It was _awful_ ," he cried. "He wasn't _you_."

 

Harry knelt beside him, and enveloped him in his arms. Louis sagged against his chest. He pressed his face into the crook of Harry's neck and wept unabashedly.

 

"Shh," Harry tried, petting his hair and placing kisses to the top of his head. "It's all over now, love. Everything is going to be alright. I promise, Lou. You're safe with me."

 

After  an  immeasurable  amount  of  time  had  passed,  Louis  was  finally  somewhat  subdued. Exhaustion crept in, and he felt his eyelids droop. His iron grip around Harry's middle loosened. Sleepily, he mumbled, "I just wanted it to stop for little while."

 

"What did you want to stop?"

 

"Hurting. Missing you."

 

Harry hugged him tighter to his body. "And did it work?"

 

"Not even for a second," Louis whispered. "If it's even possible, I missed you more."

 

Louis didn't want to tell him the other stuff. He didn't want to admit that he hadn't been able to get hard, or how he didn't even finish. He didn't want to think about how he'd cried during, then more afterwards.

 

"I'm never going to _want_ anyone else, am I? This is all I'm going to have, for the rest of my life."

 

Harry had fallen extremely quiet. His hands stilled against Louis's scalp. "I'm holding you back," he said in a haunted voice. "This is all my fault, isn't it?"

 

Louis recoiled like he'd been struck in the face. "Of course not!" He countered vehemently. "Don't say things like that! I _want_ you here. I've always wanted you here."

 

"And I will _always_ want to be here with you," Harry said fervently. He grabbed for one of Louis's hands, trying to keep him close, just like he always had. "But I can't be the person holding you back, Louis. I couldn't stand to make you unhappy forever."

 

"Harry, you're _not_ \--"

 

"I am," he interrupted, eyes unmistakably sad. "You can't move on, if I stay here. I've been selfish. I wanted to be with you forever, but we can't keep doing this. I couldn't see that before, but I do now."

 

Louis mouth fell open in abject horror. He dug his nails into Harry's hand hard enough to leave tiny, half-moon imprints all over the skin. "You can't leave," he whispered. "Please, H, I won't live through losing you twice."

 

Harry cast his beautiful green eyes downwards. He released a long sigh. "Alright," he said, as he tugged Louis back into his arms. "We'll not talk about it today. Take a breath, Louis. I'm not going anywhere right now."

 

"Not ever," Louis countered, a little too hopefully.

 

When Harry said nothing, merely tightened his grip, Louis's heart fell out of his chest, and splintered into a thousand pieces on the floor.

 

He held on, while he still could.

 

-

 

"You're up rather early, aren't you?" A sleep-rumpled Harry mused from the kitchen entryway. He hadn't bothered to dress himself past slipping into a pair of boxer briefs. In the morning light, he looked even more radiant than usual.

 

Louis, who had earned himself a reputation long ago for being a late-riser, hitched a brow high on his forehead. "It's Valentine's Day, you git. I'm making _you_ breakfast for once."

 

"Much  as  I  love  you,  that  sounds  like  it  might  result  in  a  call  being  placed  to  the  fire department."

 

"Shut up and say thank you," Louis ordered with an eye roll. He nudged the hunk of egg in his pan with a spatula, and frowned. "Huh. I'm not sure I've done this correctly."

 

Harry was already behind him, reaching into the fridge for fresh eggs. He shoved Louis playfully out of the way. "Move, before you burn down the flat."

 

With very little protest, Louis relocated himself to a bar stool, and got comfortable, while watching Harry expertly crack four eggs. "Happy Valentines," he called to Harry's backside. "Sorry that I can't cook."

 

Harry hummed consolingly. "Not to worry, my love. I don't mind doing the fry-up." He scanned the countertops. "Where'd you put my spatula?"

 

Louis handed the utensil dutifully over. "Staying in or going out this year?" He asked with the kind of nonchalance you can only attain after spending years with the same person.

 

"What'd we do last year?"

 

"Early dinner at our Italian place. Marathon sex."

 

"Ah, so the usual." Harry shot a smug look over his shoulder. "That's fine by me, if you think you can handle it."

 

Louis snorted. "I think I'll take my chances."

 

They lapsed into a comfortable silence while Harry worked. They were a well-oiled machine, and they each knew how the other operated down to the exact tomato Harry selected from the fridge.

 

When the food was finally ready, they sat across from one another and languidly ate forkful after forkful of Harry's delicious cooking. Louis had yet to successfully complete a Valentine's Day breakfast. He still attempted it every year.

 

Louis absently trailed his bare foot along the flat planes of Harry's inner-thigh. He looked up in mock surprise when Harry groaned softly at the contact. "Oh, my bad. Am I distracting you from you breakfast?" He removed his foot completely, and smiled to himself at Harry's note of protest.

 

"Christ," Harry mumbled. "You fucking sex addict. Guess it's probably for the best that we can't reproduce; you'd have knocked me up by now."

 

When Louis went suspiciously quiet, Harry's eyes widened in realization. He set his fork down, and reached across the table to touch Louis's hand lightly with his own. "Hey. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. It was a silly joke, Lou."

 

Louis shook his head. "No, it's not that." He paused again, tilting his head as he gazed at Harry. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost picture a warm little bundle of tiny limbs in his arms. His lip curled. "It's not that, at all."

 

"What then?"

 

"We'd made pretty fucking great parents, don't you think?"

 

Harry's already widened eyes bugged out of his head. He recoiled ever so slightly. "I'm sorry, I think I misheard you. Could you repeat that?"

 

"We'd made good parents. Don't you think so?"

 

"Whether or not I agree with that statement is _not_ my point, and you know that."

 

Louis nodded. "I do know. But I'm not taking the piss, H. And I don't mean _right now_ , but maybe someday? That's all I'm saying here."

 

Harry's hands twitched against the table. His fingers cycled back and forth between rubbing a line across his bottom lip, and running through his curls. "You're serious?" He demanded. "You want to have a baby with me someday?"

 

"Yeah," he said. Then, more confidently, "Yeah, I do."

 

When Harry leapt across the table, and knocked both of their plates to the ground, neither boy so much as glanced at the shattered remains of their breakfast. Harry twisted Louis's tee in his fist, and hauled him in for a messy, bruising kiss.

 

Louis laughed against his mouth, and broke momentarily away. "You have made a _mess_ , Harold."

 

"I don't care," Harry said breathlessly. "I love you."

 

Louis kissed him again, harder this time, and told Harry the one thing he knew to be absolutely true: "I love you more."

 

-

 

Louis stared into the tired face of his mother, and felt guilt coil, hot and uncomfortable, at the bottom of his stomach. Her eyes on him were weary, and he wished that he knew a way to bridge the divide between them.

 

"Louis," she said in acknowledgement. "What are you doing here?"

 

Here came the hard part. Louis gathered every last scrap of courage, and admitted, "I need your help, Mum."

 

Her face softened immediately. "I was hoping you'd come, eventually." She ushered him inside. "It's been a long time since I've last seen you."

 

Louis followed her into the living room. The entire house was quieter than he'd ever heard it. "Where are the girls?"

 

Jay waved a hand. "Lottie's at her house, Fizzy is out on a date, and Dan took the twins to the see a film." She invited Louis to sit beside her on the couch. "It's just you and me tonight."

 

Louis was lost in his thoughts. His conversation with Harry had been at the forefront of his mind all day. Without realizing it, he had begun chewing at his bottom lip. He finally noticed, when he tasted blood on his tongue.

 

"You look scared," Jay observed quietly. "What is it, Louis? We'll sort it out."

 

Louis knew what he had come here to say. He could feel the words perched on the very tip of his tongue, trying to pry open his teeth and fall from his lips. He locked his jaw, forcing the words back down until he could decide how to say them.

 

He decided start slowly. "Everything's just been...a bit of a mess. Since, uh, since...," he trailed off, knowing Jay would immediately understand.

 

"I know," she said, exactly as Louis had known she would. "I wish you would've come to me sooner. I wanted to...be there for you. We all did."

 

Louis squeezed his eyes shut. He knew that it had been wrong, cutting people out of his life the way that he had. He knew that he had hurt his family, and he was sorry for that.

 

But...

 

He opened his eyes, and forced himself to look into his mother's face.

 

But, every single part of his relationship with Jay was intertwined with pieces of Harry. If not for Harry's stubborn interference, he might never have reconciled with his mother in the first place.

 

"I'm  sorry  I  pushed  you  away,"  he  told  Jay  with  sincerity.  "I haven’t been handling what happened very well." He chuckled humorlessly. "Just ask Zayn."

 

Jay placed a hand on his shoulder. "No one can tell you the proper way to grieve," she said softly. "There isn't one, correct way. You're doing the best you can, darling, and no one can fault you for that." She ran a hand through his hair, and Louis found himself leaning into the familiar touch.

 

His stomach churned. "Something's been happening," he whispered, a part of him hoping Jay hadn't heard him, "since he died. Something that I haven't told anyone about."

 

Jay eyed him curiously. "What do you mean?"

 

Louis had started trembling. He wrapped his arms around himself and tried to keep his voice even as he whispered, "I see him."

 

And now Jay was full-on confused, Louis could tell. Her brow was pulled low over her eyes, and her hands had slipped from his shoulder. "Who?"

 

This was a bad idea. She'd think he'd gone mad; she'd throw him in the nuthouse. He couldn't even blame her for that. Any _sane_ person would.

 

He considered packing it all back in, and lying through his teeth, but Jay knew something was up now. She wouldn't let it rest until she had the truth.

 

And Louis was really, really tired of lying.

 

"Harry," he said, so quiet he wondered if she'd even heard him. He focused his gaze on a piece of string that hung off of Jay's blouse; he didn't want to see the pity in his mother's eyes.

 

"What do you mean?" Jay asked, in a calm-sounding voice that Louis hadn't been expecting. When he didn't answer fast enough, she continued, "Sometimes, I think I see him, too. In the faces of strangers I pass on my way to the shops. It's normal to expect to see him, honey. We all do it."

 

Louis pictured lips scalding a path down his bare chest, and large hands pinning him in place. It wasn't the same thing.

 

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. "It's...not exactly like that."

 

He thought it was ironic how desperately he wished Harry were here to hold his hand and help him through this.

 

Beside him, Jay had taken up his hand, and begun rubbing little circles into the back of it with the pad of her thumb. She gazed at him imploringly. "You can tell me anything, Louis. I am _always_ , unequivocally, on your side."  She pressed a kiss to his temple. "Tell me what's troubling you, sweetheart. Let me help you."

 

Louis dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying valiantly to hold back the pathetic tears that were threatening to spill over. He'd never been much of a crier before, but lots of things were different now, and he supposed crying sort of came with the territory.

 

"I don't just... _think_ I see Harry," Louis said, weak and shuddery in a way that made his teeth ache inside his skull. "I do see him. I talk to him, and...touch him. He's always with me. It started happening six months after he died."

 

The silence was palpable; deafening. Louis fought the urge to get up and sprint from the house. That would probably only make the situation worse. Probably.

 

When he'd gathered enough courage to meet his mother's eyes, he drew in a surprised breath: she was smiling.

 

Eyes misty and reddening around the edges, Jay reached out and grasped her son's face between her palms. She regarded Louis through an expression shining with so much love, it made his throat constrict painfully and his eyes prick with tears.

 

"Oh, my darling boy. My poor baby," Jay breathed. "All this time, and you never said anything? To anyone?"

 

Louis shook his head. "I couldn't," he said, gasping. It felt a little like a dam had burst. "I couldn't say anything." He hung his head. "You must think I'm insane. Half the time, _I_ think I'm insane."

 

Jay held his face up, refusing to let him break their eye contact. "I don't think you're insane, Louis. I think you're grieving." She kissed his forehead three times, in quick succession. "I believe you."

 

Louis could scarcely breathe for the relief. He felt a tear drip down his chin, trembling as it reached his jaw, and watched as it fell to the floor. He coughed in an attempt to clear the blockage from his throat.

 

"You do?"

 

She nodded. "I've never believed that life ends in death; that would be naive. There's so much that we don't understand about this world. Doesn't it make sense, that our loved ones stay with us, even after they're gone? That they're still tied to us?"

 

Louis exhaled. "You really believe me."

 

"Harry loved you," Jay said. "Unconditionally. Like a fairytale." She stroked the length of Louis's face, and smiled softly. "And so he stayed here with you. It makes perfect sense."

 

Louis looked at his mother in amazement. "Yeah, I suppose it does. Make sense."

 

"But why did you wait so long to tell me? Why are you so upset?" She released his face, but remained just as close.

 

Louis remembered Harry's haunted face from this morning, the way his eyes had flooded over with guilt. He remembered shaking in Harry's arms for hours, terrified that between one blink of an eye and the next, he'd lose him all over again.

 

Louis decided to start from the very beginning, leaving out as little as possible.

 

When he had finished, Louis felt a weight like a ton of bricks slide off of his chest, and he took a deep breath like he hadn't in years. It was alarmingly gratifying to lay out his darkest secrets, and know that someone was listening.

 

Jay had one hand pressed over her heart, and the other continued to gently pet the fine silk of Louis's hair. She didn't bother wiping the wet streaks from her cheeks, and neither did Louis. He wasn't ashamed of them.

 

"I think Harry's right, Lou," Jay said with a long, lamented sigh. When Louis immediately made to move away, stung by her words, Jay gripped the hem of his jumper. "No, no, let me explain. Just listen for a minute."

 

Louis stopped struggling. He fixed his mother with a look of betrayal, but silently invited her to continue.

 

"Harry's right, and I think you know that. Even if you're not ready to admit it."

 

Louis stared at the floor.

 

"How can you move on with your life, if Harry never leaves?" Jay asked gently. "I know what he means to you, Louis. I know you don't want him to leave. I watched your father walk away, and it nearly killed me." She squeezed his knee. "But I survived, and I'm better off for it."

 

Louis bristled at the mention of his biological father. "It's not the same," he growled. "Harry is _nothing_ like that man."

 

"Of course it's different," Jay responded easily, her tone unwaveringly calm in the midst of Louis's storm. "But love isn't simple, and I _did_ love your father once. Perhaps more than I should have, but my point remains the same."

 

Louis raised his eyes, and suddenly caught sight of his own reflection in the glossy, black television screen. He looked like he'd aged ten years overnight. His features were blurred, but he could place deep, purple abysses beneath his eyes and bloodied lips from too much biting and not enough chapstick. He knew that hidden beneath several layers of clothing, his collarbones strained sharply against his skin.

 

He saw the reflection his mother's face, turning to watch him gauge his appearance. "I just want you to be happy, Louis. It's all I've ever wanted for you."

 

"I think I've forgotten how," he replied reflexively.

 

"I think," Jay said, "that you want to forget. I think you believe that because Harry died, you don't get a happy ending anymore." She touched his face, brushing an undisciplined piece of fringe away from his forehead. "Honey, you know him better than anyone. He wouldn't want you to be miserable and alone forever."

 

Louis dipped a finger into the hollow of his ribcage. He prodded the sharp planes of his cheekbones.

 

"Would you want that for Harry, if your roles were reversed?"

 

He thought of Zayn's tear-streaked face, of Harry's guilt-ridden expression. He looked to his mother now, at the worry lines etched into her forehead, and into her knowing eyes.

 

He thought of sleepless nights, and suffocating night terrors. He remembered swallowing liquid fire in a desperate attempt just to _forget_ for a little while.

 

"No," he said. He let his face drop into his hands. Muffled and defeated, he continued, "No, I wouldn't wish this on anyone."

 

Jay massaged her fingers into the base of Louis's neck. The gentle pressure eased his splitting headache somewhat.

 

Her voice was quiet and sad, reflecting his own shattered heart. "I think you know what to do."

 

He did.

 

-

 

Louis bounced his knee for something to do. He was a ball of nervous energy, and time had begun crawling by in slow motion. Clutched between slick palms and shaking digits, Louis held a black, velvet box. Every time he looked at it, his heart rate tripled.

 

He contemplated calling his mum, then Zayn, then his mum again. He stared at his phone, willing it to self-dial, but it remained in the exact position he'd left it on the bedside table.

 

Harry had texted earlier, saying he would be home from work in twenty. That was twenty- _three_ minutes ago. If Louis was forced to wait any longer, he'd lose his nerve.

 

Just as Louis was preparing to call it a night and ditch the plan entirely, he heard the front door open and close. Keys dropped into the dish. The telltale sound of heeled boots against wooden floors approached the bedroom door.

 

The door swung opened, and Louis was abruptly on his feet. He shoved the box into his trousers.

 

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. He carefully rearranged his face into a pleasant smile, and leaned down to peck Louis on the mouth. "Hi, there. Were you waiting for me to get dinner? I told you I would be home late."

 

Louis had forgotten all about dinner. Oddly enough, at the brief mention of a skipped meal, his stomach growled accordingly.

 

"Figured we could eat together," Louis said, figuring this one white lie didn't matter much in the grand scheme of things. He panicked. "I was about to order take away from that Chinese place you like."

 

Harry had managed to strip down to his pants in record time. He fumbled around in the chest of drawers for a pair of grey joggers. "That sounds lovely, Lou. Will you ask for extra soy sauce? They always seem to forget it."

 

He was moving in a blur. Louis watched him change into a soft jumper, carefully fold each discarded article of clothing, throw his long curls into a messy bun, and lope off into the bathroom, all while humming a tune under his breath.

 

Louis just wanted him to be still for a _moment_ , so he could think clearly.

 

"H?" He called out, hoping Harry could hear him over the noise of the sink. "H, can you come into the bedroom for a second?"

 

The water snapped off, and Harry poked his head out the door. In one hand he held a toothbrush, poised near his pink mouth. "What is it?"

 

Louis impatiently gestured for him to step closer. With a confused look, Harry obligingly returned his toothbrush to its drawer, and crossed the room to his anxious boyfriend.

 

Once he'd gotten close enough, Louis grappled for his hand. He could feel the energy thrumming just under Harry's skin, warm and excited. "Good day at work, yeah?" He murmured as he tugged Harry's body flush with his.

 

"Mm," Harry hummed in firm agreement. "Great day. I've received offers from three different galleries to display my new series."

 

Louis smiled. Since Harry had given up his old, corporate job at the advertising agency that had all but made him lose his mind, and begun chasing his dream of becoming a professional photographer, he came home every day positively glowing.

 

"That's wonderful, H. Everyone _already_ knows how bloody fucking talented you are."

 

Harry beamed at the praise. "Just wanna make you proud, Lou. As proud as you make me."

 

Louis slipped a hand into his pocket. His fingers brushed against crushed-velvet. His cheeks grew hot and flushed under Harry's intense gaze. "Stop that," he mumbled, embarrassed. "We're talking about you, not me."

 

"I like talking about you more," Harry said, pushing out his bottom lip in a mock-pout. He stole a quick kiss, just barely brushing Louis's lips with his own. "You're actually my favorite subject."

 

Harry disentangled from the mess of Louis's limbs, and began scanning the room. "Where'd we put that damned Chinese menu?”

 

"Just," Louis took a breath to steady himself. He held out his hand. "Just...come here, please? Come here."

 

Harry halted in his search efforts, and stilled. A frown carved itself deeply into his mouth. Moving robotically, he accepted Louis's hand without protest, and let their fingers intertwine. "Lou, what is it? What's wrong?"

 

"Nothing's wrong," Louis assured, with a quick shake of his head. "I just need you to listen to me for a minute. No interruptions, promise? Let me get this out."

 

Harry nodded, remaining dutifully silent.

 

Louis wrapped his entire hand around the tiny box, and edged it out of his pocket. He knew Harry hadn't noticed it yet, as his eyes were planted firmly and expectantly on Louis's face.

 

"I love you," Louis blurted, diving straight in. He figured that was as good a place to start as any. "More than, fuck, more than anything. I lay awake sometimes and try to...fathom it, I suppose? But I can't. I love you more than I ever thought was possible to love another human being. Maybe more than anybody's ever loved _anyone_."

 

At this point, Louis couldn't tell which one of them was trembling more. Harry's hand shook in his. He held on tighter.

 

"Lou-"

 

"You promised," Louis reminded him quickly. "You promised not to interrupt."

 

Harry's eyes were red and puffy. "I know I did," he said in a watery voice. "But Louis-"

 

"Shh," Louis couldn't hold his own tears at bay any longer. He felt warm liquid drip down his chin. He tasted salty droplets on his lips. Feeling oddly faint, he knelt, pulling Harry down with him. "Sometimes it feels like I was put on this earth to love you; like I was made for it," he continued, determined to finish while he was at least half-coherent. "I wouldn't be so many things, if you hadn't come into my life."

 

He pulled the velvet box entirely out of his pocket. He knew the second that Harry noticed its existent, by the sharp inhale of breath.

 

"You're under my skin. You're flowing through my veins," Louis smiled, despite the steady flow of tears. "My best friend, my partner in crime, and the love of my life." He tipped the lid open, revealing the gleaming circle of untarnished metal that he'd spent weeks agonizing over. "Marry me, H?"

 

Harry gently stroked a finger over the smooth band. He picked it up, and placed it in the very center of the palm. Finally, he looked up and locked eyes with Louis. His lips were parted in awe, and his eyes were twinkling like a thousand tiny stars.

 

"You," he stopped to glance back down at the ring, as though for confirmation. "You proposed to me. You want to marry me."

 

Louis swallowed. "You have no idea how much."

 

Harry's eyes darkened a shade. "You're wrong," he murmured firmly. "I have _every_ idea."

 

And suddenly, Louis found himself flailing backwards. He landed, breathless, flat on his back. Harry hovered above him, pinning his wrists down and pressing his lips against the curve of Louis's ear.

 

"Yes," Harry said softly. His warm breath sent hot fire racing up and down Louis's spine, and raised goosebumps along the exposed skin of his arms. "Yes, I'll marry you. I'd marry you today if I could."

 

Louis frantically attempted to free his wrists, but Harry merely smirked and tightened his grip. "Harry," he gasped desperately. "H, let me up." He bucked his hips upwards in wild motions.

 

Harry considered him for a long moment. "No, I think I like you right where you are." He dipped his face into the crook of Louis's neck, and bit the skin just below his jawline. "My fiancé." He sucked a bruise into the same spot.

 

Louis let his eyelids flutter shut. "Say that again," he breathed.

 

Harry pulled off his neck with a filthy, wet noise. "Fiancé," he repeated, drawing out each syllable carefully.

 

Finally breaking free of the restraining hand encircling his wrists, Louis locked an arm around Harry's neck, and dragged him down, dragged him under.

 

It was a long time before they resurfaced.

 

-

 

"What are you doing in here?"

 

Harry turned his head, and offered Louis a weak smile. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of his own bedside table. "Thinking," was his vague answer.

 

Louis felt cold, through and through. Hesitantly, he sat beside Harry, imitating the way he had crisscrossed his legs over one another. He watched as Harry's eyes were slowly drawn back to the top drawer of the nightstand.

 

"What are you thinking about?"

 

Harry didn't bother looking away this time. After a long, uncomfortably silent minute, he said, "Us." In his lap, he twisted at the absurdly empty skin around his ring finger. He inclined his head at the drawer. "That."

 

Louis blew out a shaky breath. "I've been thinking about that, too."

 

"The fairytale ending to a fairytale love story," Harry said quietly. He laughed, but it was strangely void of any humor. He reached out blindly, fumbling for Louis's hand. When he found it, he squeezed, hard enough to hurt. "I wanted to marry you more than anything in the entire world. I wanted to be your husband. I wanted to raise kids with you. Grow old with you." He shook his head. "Sometimes, I still can't believe that's all gone."

 

Louis swallowed around the growing blockage in his throat. "I wanted to marry you, too," he whispered. "You'll truly never understand just how much I love you, H."

 

Harry finally tilted his face towards Louis. He smiled without his teeth, eyes misty but warm. "You would've made a brilliant husband, Louis Tomlinson. And a wonderful father."

 

Louis chuckled absent-mindedly. He returned Harry's tiny smile with one of his own. "No better than you. I'll bet you'd already planned our entire wedding, down to the tablecloths."

 

Harry smirked. "Well the tablecloths are very important, Louis."

 

"So that's a yes?"

 

He tried to hide his face, but Louis could see the color rising in his cheeks. "That's a yes," he finally conceded.

 

"Harry?"

 

"Yes?"

 

Louis slid closer, settling Harry's arm around his own shoulders, and snuggling into his warm side. "Tell me about our wedding."

 

Harry kissed the top of Louis's head, lingering there a moment longer than was strictly necessary. Louis tipped his face up and accepted another, this time on his lips. The kiss was slow, lazy, and it touched every part of Louis. An electric current shocked every last nerve under his skin. When they finally pulled apart, stars sparked and burned behind Louis's eyelids.

 

"Our wedding," Harry began, carding a hand through Louis's overgrown hair, "will take place at sunset." He thought for a moment. "At Westminster."

 

Louis narrowed his eyes. "Westminster _Abbey_? Did we become royalty overnight?"

 

Harry completely ignored his protests. “Westminster at sunset,” he repeated, firmly. “Intimate. Just our families and the boys. Charlotte can pick out her own bridesmaid dress. I think she’d like that.”

 

Louis snorted. “That may finally be enough to shut her up.” He paused, considered. “Well, for a little while at least. Tell me more.”

 

Harry hummed softly under his breath. “You’ll walk down the aisle to me, and there won’t be a single dry eye in the entire room.” He pulled Louis tighter against him. “I’ll weep throughout the entire ceremony, to no one’s surprise, I’m sure.”

 

Louis’s cheeks warmed. He tucked his chin into his chest. “And our reception?”

 

“Outside,” Harry said without hesitation. “Under the stars. We’ll feed each other forkfuls of banana wedding cake, and dance until the sun rises. And the next morning, we’ll hop on a plane and jet off somewhere remote and beautiful. Just the two of us.”

 

Louis closed his eyes. He could see it all, in perfect clarity. The church, done up in vibrant shades of white and filled with sunflowers. Burning happily beneath the hot, Mexican sun next to his new husband. And, most clearly, Louis could picture Harry, waiting for him at the altar.

 

He didn’t register the fact that he was crying, until Harry begun rocking them both. “Louis? What is it, honey? What’s happened?”

 

Louis could hardly breathe. His entire body shuddered with the force of his sobs. He held both hands up to his face, and slumped away from Harry.

 

“Lou,” he tried again, voice high and panicked. “Please stop crying, Louis. What’s wrong?”

 

“It’s not fucking _fair_ ,” Louis cried. It sounded petulant even to his ears, but Louis could not bring himself to care in that moment. He let his hands drop from his face, so he could meet eyes with Harry.

 

“What isn’t fair?”

 

Louis shook his head in disbelief. “All of it,” he said in a whisper. “You dying, you coming _back_ , the fact that we’ll never have a chance to get married. It’s not right. We deserved so much better than this.”

 

Harry ducked his head, nodded. “I know.”

 

“I can’t believe this is how the story ends.”

 

“I know.”

 

Louis wiped halfheartedly at his eyes. He tried to smile, but it he knew it didn’t reach his eyes. “We would’ve had the happiest life together, H.”

 

Harry looked up sharply. “I’ve never doubted that for a second.” He hesitated, lips parted enough that Louis knew he wasn’t finished. “Do you ever regret it?”

 

“Regret what?”

 

“Us,” Harry said, eyes sad. “Do you ever wonder if you’d have been better off for never knowing me?”

 

Louis wouldn’t admit it to Harry’s face, but the thought had crossed his mind before. Late nights when he couldn’t fall asleep alone, Louis caught himself desperately thinking that he could’ve escaped this fate, if he’d only ditched Zayn on club night.

 

But the guilt lasted far longer than those thoughts ever did.

 

“Knowing you has been the best part of my life,” Louis said. “I could never give that up.”

 

Harry touched his cheek delicately. He exhaled quietly. “Neither would I.”

 

Louis wanted to kiss him so badly his teeth ached. He held himself carefully in check. If he kissed Harry now, he knew he’d never be able to stop. And something far more pressing was weighing on Louis’s mind.

 

“I went to see my mum today.”

 

Harry nodded. “I know you did. What did Johannah have to say?”

 

Louis took a deep breath, and admitted, “I told her about you.”

 

“I figured,” Harry said. “You were so quiet when you got back.” He tucked a stray tendril of hair behind Louis’s ear with a worried look. “Did it go badly?”

 

“No,” Louis said with a quick shake of his head. “Exactly the opposite. She didn’t think I’d gone completely mental, like I expected. She _believed_ me. ”

 

Harry’s hands dropped into his lap. “That’s,” he sounded breathless, unsure of what to say. “That’s excellent. Right? I’m so glad for you, Louis.” He wrapped his arms around Louis, and lugged him into a tight embrace. Warm lips pressed into the side of his face.

 

Louis couldn’t feel Harry’s arms around him. He skin had gone numb to touch.

 

“H,” he said softly. He shook him gently. “H, listen to me for a second.”

 

Harry fell still. He pulled back, face white as a sheet. “This is it, isn’t it? This is where it ends?”

 

“Yeah. I think that it is.”

 

Harry’s eyes filled. He began furiously nodding. A tear slipped from the corner of his eye, and landed on Louis’s trouser leg. “Good. That’s…good. It’s the right thing to do.” He was trembling all over. “This is what’s supposed to happen.”

 

Louis stared at the tiny wet spot left by the tear. He placed his hand over Harry’s, and squeezed lightly. “You have to know…I would’ve done _anything_ to keep you here. I would’ve died in your place, if I could have.”

 

“You’re alive, Louis,” Harry reminded him. “ _Live_.”

 

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me,” Louis said quietly. “Zayn. My mum.” He looked pointedly at Harry. “You.”

 

“We all probably have a point.”

 

“I know,” Louis admitted. He felt a rush of relief sweep through him like a tidal wave. “I know that this can’t last forever.”

 

Harry shook harder. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry that I died on you, Louis. I’m sorry that I never got a chance to marry you, or to raise kids with you. I’m sorry that I left you all alone.”

 

“It’s not your fault,” Louis said. He smiled faintly. “And you didn’t. Leave me all alone, I mean. I still have Zayn, and Liam, and Niall, and both of our families. Maybe it took me a while to realize that, but they never stopped being there for me.”

 

Harry looked absurdly pleased, despite the steady stream of tears. “You’ve grown so much, Louis Tomlinson. It’s been a privilege to watch it happen.”

 

“I need to thank you for that,” Louis said forcefully. He reached out, and pressed both hands to the base of Harry’s neck. “I can’t even…I don’t even know where to _start_.”

 

“I love you,” Harry murmured. “No matter what happens next, you need to remember that I will _always_ love you. Infinitely.”

 

Louis nodded. “I do know.”

 

Harry’s eyes fluttered briefly shut. He exhaled an almost silent breath. Relieved, he opened his eyes. “Good. It’ll be much easier this way.”

 

“Thank you for loving me,” Louis was finding it more and more difficult to draw oxygen into his lungs. His throat was rapidly closing up. “After David…I never could’ve imagined how happy I was going to be. Thank you for making me feel beautiful, and important, and _safe_. You changed _everything_ , Harry. I was so sad before I met you. I was so low—all the time—and I didn’t see any way out. And then, here comes Harry Styles. My sunshine. The love of my fucking life.”

 

Harry shuddered. “Do you think we’ll ever see each other again?” He laughed at his own question. “Christ, that was possibly the corniest thing I’ve ever said.” He paused, and any trace of humor suddenly disappeared from his expression. “But, do you?”

 

“Yes,” Louis answered automatically. “I do.”

 

“So this isn’t goodbye,” Harry murmured. “Not forever, anyway.”

 

“No,” Louis agreed. “This isn’t goodbye.”

 

Harry nodded. He was quiet for a long minute, working up to something. Finally, he said, “I don’t know why I ended up here, after I died. But I’m _endlessly_ grateful, Louis. Even if it was only meant to be for a little while.”

 

Louis could just barely make out Harry’s shape through the screen of tears in his eyes. “H?” he said, a little hysterically. “Come here.”

 

Their lips met slowly, reminiscent of the very first time. Louis remembered the nerves, remembered feeling completely and utterly _out of his league_. He remembered trembling violently, though he wasn’t cold, as he first tasted Harry against his tongue. And, most importantly, he remembered the way Harry had smiled into his mouth.

 

Back in the present, Louis snapped his eyelids shut, and leaned into Harry. He knotted his fingers through Harry’s curls to trap him there. Harry traced Louis’s lips with his tongue, as though trying to memorize their texture.

 

Louis, unwilling to pull away and yet quickly running out of oxygen, was the first to break the kiss off. He kept Harry close as he panted, regaining his breath.

 

“I love you,” Louis said once he’d recovered enough. He felt like he hadn’t said those three words enough. Harry deserved a _lifetime’s_ worth of _I love you’s._

 

“I love _you_ ,” Harry returned, eyes wet but sparkling. “I’m going to see you soon, Louis Tomlinson. I promise.”

 

Louis shut his eyes once more. His grip on Harry was slipping. The cord tethering them together had snapped. “I’ll see you soon, H,” he whispered.

 

It took him a very long time to work up the nerve to open his eyes again.

 

When he finally did, Harry was gone.

 

-

 

Louis woke up alone.

 

He knew this before he’d even opened his eyes. Harry’s side of the double bed had gone cold in his absence.

 

Louis sat up, and stretched his arms over his head. He was surprisingly sore. He’d have to _thank_ Harry for that later.

 

The previous night came back in flashes, like a dream sequence. It took Louis a few minutes to determine whether or not he’d actually lived it.  He peeked inside the top drawer of Harry’s bedside table. There, nestled amongst his socks, a ring box sat proudly.

 

It was real. Louis had _really_ proposed to Harry last night. And Harry had said _yes_.

 

Louis ran a finger over the soft exterior of the ring box. Last night, Harry had slipped the band onto his ring finger almost immediately. But after mutually agreeing to wait to tell their families _together_ (naturally, Harry was planning a big, fancy dinner), he’d glumly returned it to its box.

 

Louis smiled. He closed the drawer up tight. It would be here, waiting for Harry, when he got home from work tonight.

 

In the meantime, Louis needed a proper washing. He slid from under the sleep-warm duvet cover, and padded bare-footed into the bathroom.

 

He nearly gasped aloud when he looked in the mirror. Harry had really done a number on him last night. Bright, purple bruises were blooming on his neck, down his chest, and between his thighs. He swore under his breath.

 

“Bloody fucking _vampire_.”

 

So distracted by the bruises, Louis had nearly missed the note adhered to the mirror. He grinned stupidly as he read it.

 

_Hate to leave before you wake, but I won’t be gone long. Go back to sleep, my love. I’ll see you soon. –H_

From somewhere in the bedroom, Louis heard his phone start to ring. With one final glance at the note his _fiancé_ had left him, Louis went to answer it.

 

He found his phone where he’d left it, charging on the dresser. He unhooked it carefully, and pressed it to his ear.

 

Louis smiled unconsciously as he said, “Hello?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All that's left is the epilogue.
> 
> The past year of writing and revising has been absolutely incredible. I'm so immensely pleased with how everything's turned out, and I sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, hope this brought you a little joy. 
> 
> Thank you times a billion!


	4. My Love, My Love, Love, Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis hugged his arms around himself. “Felt like he was right there with us.”
> 
> “I’ll bet he was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the epilogue.
> 
> If you've made it this far, I cannot thank you enough.

_“We’ll meet again soon.”_

**_-Little Talks, Of Monsters & Men_ **

****

**Five Years Later**

Louis’s eyes, as usual, were drawn to the wall-clock. He liked watching the little red hand tick, liked the simple pattern. No matter what happened, the hand would complete its circle. It would always make it back to where it had started.

 

He wasn’t quite sure why it was so comforting, but maybe that wasn’t the point.

 

It took him a minute to realize that he had missed a question. He dragged his gaze away from the clock. “Sorry. What?”

 

Across from him, Annabelle smiled that patient smile of hers, and repeated her question: “I was asking if you had completed this week’s letter?”

 

Louis pulled a crumpled envelope from his back pocket. He tried to smooth out the imperfections as best he could. “This one’s kind of long,” he said, not sure if the words were defensive or apologetic, and handed the letter over.

 

“That must mean you had a lot to write about,” she answered simply, accepting the envelope without commenting on its impressive girth. “Want to tell me about your week?”

 

“Busy,” he said immediately. “I had three manuscripts to get through before Friday, and I just barely made the cut. Plus, it’s the post-Christmas intern season, so the entire office is being especially dim-witted.”

 

Annabelle nodded along with what he was saying. “You read anything good?”

 

“One,” He smiled faintly to himself before adding, “A love story.”

 

“Who doesn’t enjoy a good love story?” She scrawled something quickly on her notepad. Louis had bought her that pen for Christmas this year. It was engraved with her name, and had cost a fortune. She looked up from her notes. “Did you take Wednesday off, like we discussed?”

 

He nodded. “Yeah, I did.” He rubbed circles into the back of his hand with the pad of his thumb. “I spent the day with Harry.”

 

“At his grave?”

 

“Mmhm. I read ‘im my letter. Brought him some flowers. He likes—”

 

“Sunflowers,” Annabelle finished for him. “I remember. How long were you at the cemetary?”

 

Louis had to think on this. Whenever he visited Harry’s headstone, time was stripped of any meaning. Being near him was so much of a relief, that Louis could spend hours upon hours lying on the freshly mowed grass above his body, and feel like no time had passed at all.

 

The sky had been markedly darker when he left the cemetery, than when he’d arrived. “Most of the day, I think. I wanted to tell him about Zayn’s party. And I think he likes to hear about the manuscripts. _Especially_ the love stories.”

 

Annabelle’s eyes sparkled at him. Louis thought that her ability to do that was practically supernatural. “Did you go home afterwards?”

 

“Nah. Anne and Gemma invited me out to dinner. We went to Harry’s favorite restaurant.” Louis hugged his arms around himself. “Felt like he was right there with us.”

 

“I’ll bet he was.”

 

-

 

When Louis walked out the front door of Annabelle’s office building, he was immediately greeted by the sight of his irritatingly on-time best friend leaning nonchalantly against his car.

 

Zayn, noticing him, raised a solitary eyebrow in greeting. He slipped dark sunglasses down his nose and languidly inclined his head towards the driver’s side door. “You driving, or shall I?”

 

Louis slid into the passenger seat, answering his question without a word. Zayn climbed in beside him. “Good session?”

 

“Yeah, good.”

 

“She ask about H’s birthday?”

 

Louis rolled his eyes in feigned annoyance. “Yes, Mum.” He crossed and uncrossed his ankles. “Everyone coming tonight?”

 

Zayn didn’t shift his eyes from the road. “No one would dare miss.” He paused, then shrugged lightly. “That, and Niall promised to buy all the beer.”

 

“Well, that Niall is a right classy host.”

 

They drove in comfortable silence, until Zayn pulled the car into the driveway of Louis’s tiny, yellow house. He killed the engine. “Still can’t bloody believe you live in a _yellow_ house.”

 

“It’s cheerful,” Louis said as he climbed out of the car. He rather liked the color. When the time had come to paint, he’d figured Harry would find it charming.

 

“It’s _blinding_ ,” Zayn grumbled under his breath. Louis didn’t bother responding.

 

“Lou-eh!” Niall called in a sing-song voice, as he pushed through the front door and onto the porch. “We’ve got enough beer to get the whole _neighborhood_ nice and drunk.”

 

Louis chuckled lightly. “And Emily doesn’t mind you leaving her home, all alone, with a newborn?”

 

Niall paled considerably at the mention of his girlfriend and infant son. “She…wasn’t _too_ upset.”

 

Liam stepped out of the house. He greeted Louis and Zayn with an enthusiastic wave. “There you two are. I was starting to worry.”

 

Louis jabbed a thumb at Zayn. “Not to worry, Dad. Mum was just driving fifteen under.”

 

Liam turned crimson, and Louis internally gave himself a high-five. The Mum/Dad jokes had become uncomfortable territory lately, and Louis didn’t pretend not to know why. It was the least surprising thing to happen, since that one time Niall had come home with purple hair.

 

If those two pricks honestly thought Louis was _blind_ to their not-so-secret romance…

 

Until they decided to tell him straight-out, Louis had resigned himself to making snide comments and brazen innuendos. Liam’s face gave them away every single time.

 

Together, the foursome trooped inside. Though it was just Louis living there, the other three boys had made themselves plenty comfortable. Zayn had practically moved into the guest room, if the sheer volume of his belongings was anything to go on. Naturally, the nights Zayn slept over were, curiously, the same nights that _Liam_ slept over.

 

Louis stopped short as his eyes took in the living room. “You rearranged my furniture?” he asked, deadpan.

 

“There wasn’t enough room for _dancing_ , Louis,” Niall explained quickly.

 

“Where’d you put his couch?” Zayn wondered aloud, glancing all around the room.

 

As it turned out, the couch had been repurposed in the kitchen, where it was the resting spot of three, fairly large coolers of beer.

 

Louis eyed the arrangement carefully. “You owe me a new couch,” was all he said on the matter.

 

It wasn’t the first time Niall’s wild visions had wound up murdering Louis’s property; it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

 

“Exactly how many people are you expecting?” Louis questioned as the group traveled back into the living room. “I thought it was just us and the family?”

 

Niall looked dumbfounded. “It is.”

 

“Why do I even ask?”

 

Liam, laughing, settled himself into a relaxed position on the floor. Interestingly, Zayn seated himself nearby. When they thought Louis wasn’t watching, Liam reached out, and gently touched Zayn’s hand.

 

Stupid, secretive bastards.

 

Louis excused himself to his bedroom. He closed the door behind himself, and quickly shucked off his heavy jumper. He replaced it with a clean, white t-shirt. Before he headed back out to his friends, Louis carefully straightened the framed picture of Harry on his nightstand. He let his fingers linger a moment, before turning and exiting the room.

 

Niall, of course, had miraculously managed to suck down one and a half beers in Louis’s absence. He looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. “I’m only having a few,” he said, though Louis wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince at this point.

 

Louis shot him an unimpressed look, smirked openly at Liam and Zayn, and went to sit outside on the porch. Above him, the sun was just beginning to set. It cast out dying stripes of pink and orange as it disappeared below the horizon.

 

Soon, Jay would arrive with the girls in tow. Lottie was bringing her new boyfriend, and Louis was looking forward to giving the bloke a good fright.

 

And then Anne and Gemma would be there, both so overflowing with _Harry_ that Louis’s heart threatened to spill over whenever they were around.

 

This yearly celebration was one of the only times that Louis managed to cram his extended family into one house. He spent months tracking the date on a calendar, meticulously crossing days off and counting down. He was so looking forward to watching everyone catch up, and having everyone that he loved under one roof again.

 

And Harry would be there, too. Not physically (that hadn’t been the case for five, long years), but spiritually. Louis felt Harry the strongest when he was surrounded by the people that had loved him. That _still_ loved him.

 

“I’m here, H,” Louis called softly up to the sky. He smiled upwards, wondering if Harry was watching, and knowing that he was. “I’m alive.”

 

Sometimes he still needed the reminder. That would never go away completely, but it had lessened gradually over time.

 

Time healed old wounds. Even the ones Louis thought would bleed him dry.

 

He was living this life for two people now, and he didn’t intend on wasting a second of it.

 

And one day, years from now, Louis would be with Harry again. He was sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fin.

**Author's Note:**

> xoxoxoxoxo !!


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